Re-Vamp

Autumn-Bridge

I’ve combined my personal and “professional” Facebook pages. I have nothing to hide. I personally don’t agree with having separate ones and have always felt weird about it. Much like the radical new indie publishing world, why can’t we have a radical new way of looking at authors in the sense that what you see is what you get? I’m not stuffy or hiding anything. I am who I am. I want people to know me.

I’m also tweaking this blog to talk about lots of other things, not just my writing. It’s going to be my journey to become a published author and all the other things I go through on that journey, too. Like an outlet, kind of thing.

I’m struggling with my depression lately. It feels like I’m falling into a puddle. I just don’t want to end up in the same place I was in three years ago. I refuse to end up there. I am just trying to take one day at a time and stay in the moment.

I haven’t written much in a while, either. I have a new idea for a novel that M helped me come up with. It’s going to be a comedy. I still have that other sci-fi I’m working on, too. I have to really sit down and work on them–short stories, too.

Anyway, that’s my update.

Stay cool.

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Forty-Five Minutes

Forty-Five Minutes
JCD KERWIN

One, two, three a.m. and I’m staring, blinking, glaring at the ceiling like I’ve got a grudge against the shadows. Tossing and turning makes the stitch in my side itch. I have to lie straight to keep myself from screaming but I can’t dream think the right way without shoving pillows over my face.

Must refuse to move
until
the pain stops and
my heartbeats
d
r
o
p.

[Maybe if
I crush these tabs,
they’ll last a little longer,
be a little stronger;
make me
a little better at
not being me.]

The guy behind the desk says I’m supposed to believe in myself. I sink farther into the couch and wonder why upholstery’s always more plush in small rooms even though you’re never in the mood to sit still.

(I tell him I like the paintings of the Ming Dynasty Treasure Ships. They came with the office, he says. None of them ever know where the pictures come from.)

It all goes back
to my childhood:
where my family
went did wrong.

Separate yourself.
Cut yourself off
from everything
that hurts you.

He says.

Easier said
than done.

I say.

And the other guy throws pills at me, changing his mind with each visit. He can’t decide what makes
me messed up
inside.

Neither can I.

[Which is why I
line up orange bottles
in Chess lines,
like they’re pawns and I
am running from
the pugilist glove
that will crush me if
I don’t keep ahead of
the other me’s
next move.]

I am unimpressed with the depression of my facial expression. It gets quite old. But I don’t know how to climb out from puddles I rained out all alone.

He tells me plenty of people have sat where I sat, feeling hopeless, but they dug out, just like I will. I ask when that will be…

Right now I’m spelunking in the dark.

(October 2015)