My goodness, I'm overwhelmed at the outpouring of support, from friends, family and strangers alike, from my yesterday's heartfelt painful post. My gratitude and comfort is deep and sincere.
It's occurred to me before that writing about my angst and pain unwittingly gives the appearance of overweighting those emotions, and could present the impression that those dominate ones' life....and while there's no question that I have moments of being overwhelmed, in fact writer-types like me are most inclined to to dish at difficult moments. It's how we cope. I suspect all artistically-inclined people encounter the same phenomenon: angst drives expression. Van Gogh didn't do a self-portrait of himself with his damaged ear just for fun, after all!
So I'll balance my written ramblings with an amusing (?) writing-related anecdote. When I was 15, for some reason, I felt my day-to-day life was sufficiently tragic that I needed to write myself an inspirational note every night. I'd write a few words on a card that I folded in half, to prop up by my alarm clock, so that in the morning, the first thing I'd see was a positive inspiring thought.
On the surface, that seems about as trite as dotting 'i's with hearts, but where I am in my life now, that's actually a pretty darned good idea. Those of us in a traumatic period know that mornings are the hardest....so what a perfect bridge from the relatively relaxed night before. I think I'll start tonight!
Wouldn't it be amazing to find the "morning notes" I'd written myself some 35 years ago -- it'd be so fascinating to see what was so important to me then!