Depersonalisation and Me

Sorry for the radio silence, everyone.  Jet lag and I have a hate-hate relationship, and this time, she decided she’d really kick my ass.  It was my intention to blog yesterday for a posting later yesterday, but I went to bed the night before at around 11 PM and sat and stared at the ceiling, walls, clock, ceiling fan, etc until I finally fell asleep at around 5 AM, only to wake up at 8 AM, sore and uncomfortable.  Last night was definitely a better night for sleeping.

Speaking of last night, Noel and I went over to Darcie and Brian’s for dinner.  We had a great time and enjoyed spending time with the kids too.

During our conversation, my depersonalisation came up somehow, and I tried to explain it to Darcie but I was still pretty tired and out of it, so instead of being in danger of repeating myself a few times, I thought I’d put it down on paper.  Or screen.  You know what I mean.  (I’m a poet…)

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Worlds Apart

By the time you read this, I’ll be jetlagged to here and back in Chicago on the first evening on our a six-week visit.  I honestly am excited beyond words.  Well, as excited as I can be with depersonalisation (although it does come ashore and retreat like the tide, and really depends on the day and how much stress I’ve had that day).

I was texting back-and-forth with my sister-in-law Darcie on Sunday, and the subject of living in New Zealand and visiting my stomping grounds in Chicago came up.  I have spoken about this before with other people, so the concept isn’t exactly new to me, but I thought it seemed timely to bring it up again.

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My Writing Journey in 2014

Originally, I was quite an artistic person.  I think everyone who knew me up until about ten years ago could tell you I was always drawing or writing down ideas, doodling, making comics, all sorts of stuff.  My skills weren’t extraordinarily fantastic, but I enjoyed it.

Sadly, when I was young — about 8, I believe — I broke my right hand in several places, and as time has marched on, it has become harder and harder to hold anything (pens, pencils, forks) for long periods of time.  This has meant less and less drawing for me.

Still, I am a creative person, and I started making the shift to writing when, as a freshman Art Major at Northern Illinois University, I realised that I couldn’t keep up with my hand the way it was.  My writing was not exactly excellent in my mind but I have then, and continue to get, quite positive feedback about my skills all together.

In late 2013, after the earthquakes started settling down and I came to terms with the horrors that had unfolded around us (not all made by nature, I might add), I realised that 40 was approaching quickly, and I still had not really written much of anything other than this blog, a few Star Trek fan fiction pieces, and a few scripts for various (and more often than not, failed or defunct) Star Trek productions.

I decided I’d start writing a novel.

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Fallout

Well, geez, guys, thanks for all the positive feedback on social media about my last post.  It was from the heart, all these emotions (and nostalgia) welling within me, and I’ve been waiting so long for the creative dam in my mind to burst.  All your positive feedback helps tear that dam down.  Thank you.

So I alluded to “shit” that’s been going down in my life, and it’s going to take more than one blog to get that all out.  Where to start, though?  What to write about?

Bullying.

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1995: A Turning Point in My Life

It’s been a while since I’ve posted. Part of me feels I should say I’m sorry but I’m not sorry.  A lot of shit has been going on in my life, and I’d like to hope most people would agree that real life takes precedence over a blog or keeping others entertained.

There’s a lot to write about, a lot I need to tell you, but I had a bit of an epiphany today, and I wanted to share it with you all.

Last night, I was feeling a bit nostalgic, very awake, and slightly under the influence of a few glasses of vino, so I rummaged through our cabinets below the bookcase with our DVDs and Blu-Rays in them to haul out my old photos from my pre-New Zealand days.

Some bring tears to my eyes.  Some make me long for yesterday and for those who are no longer with us.  Others make me smile.  Others again make me laugh heartily.

I found a photo of someone I haven’t spoken to in a long time, someone who, to be totally honest, hasn’t crossed my mind a lot lately.  He does once in a while, but with time marching on and a million other memories cramming their way into my head every month or three, and having seen each other last in 1995 when we were both totally different people, these thoughts grow fewer and farther the more distant that year becomes.

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