Jinked

I was reading this zine called Not Lonely. It’s from a girl out of Scotland who writes in a pleasant, conversational tone about some of the bigger choices she’s made in life, like choosing not to drink, not getting married to her partner despite social expectations, and dropping the bipolar meds from her daily routine.

This was the last part of the zine, and the part that interested me most. One of the things she does to live a more balanced life, besides maintaining a regular sleep schedule, staying organized and recording her moods in a diary, is keep herself busy without taking on too much. A lofty goal, but it’s doable. I totally understand that need. When I’m working, a lot of my problems fade to the background, sometimes so much that I don’t even realized they’re problems anymore. I just sort of… forget.

When I stay busy, like with my onsite contracting work right now, I forget other things too. My past. My fears. I begin to think therapy is stupid. But the most distressing thing to me is that after a week slips by and I catch up with myself on the weekend, I realize I’m losing little bits of creativity. I forget how to tell a story; I feel like sometimes, if I’m not plagued with problems, I don’t have a story to tell.

How. Very. Wretched. Do the best stories only come out of misery?

I know that’s bullshit, but when I stay busy it’s hard to get motivated in other areas of my life, especially the ones that demand creative attention. When I was young, I equated depression with a superior writing ability. I run out of zines to make and blog posts to write. I tip the pail, hoping for a sweet, sweet scrap to meet my lips. Sometimes all that’s left is bone.

Push on, push on. I know that I can make it. I’ve already accomplished much, more than I have in the last three years. It’s only been five months.

A lot of the zines I’ve gotten have inspired me in some way, like Not Lonely, even if the way is fleeting or so small that I forget about it in a couple day’s time. Nevertheless, it’s impacted me at that very moment. Even if my mind forgets, my soul will not. I’ve forever an imprint on my life.

And then I remember that it was a zine that gave me the courage I needed in February to quit my full-time job.