I just had one of the hardest conversations I’ve ever had. I told MCIR I was going to have to take a leave from writing for them because I just couldn’t keep doing it anymore. I was scared to call people and investigate this story. I couldn’t find a way into it. and I just slap didn’t want to try. Officially I’m on leave through the summer.
I know what has caused this. My dissociation is extending further into my life, trying to protect me from hard emotions. Things are looking up with my kids’ situations but they are far from settled. Bob’s medical situation is far from settled. I’ve been through so much trauma since the pandemic started. I’m glad my meds are working to keep me out of the hospital. My prior authorization went through for my Latuda and I am so very grateful for that.
But I couldn’t find any kind of motivation to write–not money, not ambition, not recognition, not change, not helping. The only thing that gives me hope is that I am still writing here and doing well with it. I feel like to write for publication while in this state would be harmful–but I know not writing at all could be deadly. I feel so conflicted giving up–there’s no feeling of relief. I was hoping there would be. Just a sinking feeling. Bob when I told him said he was sorry for me having to go through this and he understood how bad I felt. SO that was a surprise.
I will keep writing here and hopefully other places like BPHope. That won’t end. And I hope I can someday go back to them. So many stories still need to be told. So much work still needs to be done. I want to help, but obviously not enough want-to is there.