So, I know it’s been a long time since I posted here, life got really crazy, and I got hurt; rinse, repeat.
I’ve been struggling for a few weeks now to come up with something to talk about. My mind’s a little fogged for advice, and in all honesty, I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time I write. It just sort of happens. Like bleeding from a cut you didn’t even know you had, suddenly there’s words, and story. At least, that’s what it seems like to me. The more I’ve thought on it, the more I’m just not feeling up to making a post, and then my topic hit me like a thunderstrike (I know thunder doesn’t strike, humor this fantasy writers).
I should just write about what I’ve been going through, why I’ve been gone, how I’ve managed to continue. I should tell you about being a writer with costocondritus.
Now, if you have no idea what that large, and rather impressively difficult to pronounce word is, you’re lucky. If you don’t, you’re probably in my boat, or know someone who is. For those of you who don’t know, I’ll give you a brief explanation; costo(condritus) is pain in the chest, caused usually by swelling in the cartilage of the sternum. Sounds simple, sounds manageable, sounds like I’m probably about to make a fuss over nothing. I’m not, I’m really, reaaaally not. It is some of the worst pain of my life. Sometimes it is all I can do not to just sit and scream in sheer, insurmountable amounts of frustration. I think if left alone where no one else could hear, I would.
It began for me years ago, thirteen, fourteen, in weeks in which just the act of breathing, or laying hurt. But then it was gone, and I’d almost forget it had ever been till it struck me months later once more. It went on like that for years, seeming both random, and timed to when I was doing some sort of physical labor, but not always, most of the time nothing. It was manageable. It hurt, it hurt like hell, but it was short and to the point.
But, as I’ve found out, the longer you have costo, the worse it seems to get. From the beginning of October last year, to the end of December, I was in one massive, never ending flare up. In desperation I began hunting down all forms of things to help, and settled on yoga. And it did help, or seem to, and the flare ended and I had months of freedom from it.
Now it’s back, like an assassin in the night, slowly sliding into place with poisons and despair.
Through my studying I’ve discovered what Dr’s in other countries tell those with costo, instead of handing out prescriptions. Your spine is locked up, or ribs are out, muscles are damaged. It’s unbelievable I hadn’t myself realized this, because as soon as I was told, I could tell.
So, as you might expect, writing with ribs out hurts, and is frustrating and bordering on pointless. For a while, I stopped. I hate that I stopped, I feel weak for having done it. I feel weak for not really being “started” currently.
Finding ways to make myself do it is increasingly hard. All I want is a good night’s sleep and to breathe without it hurting, where in there do words become important? No, nowhere.
At the same time, it feels like losing part of myself every lengthy moment I’m not. It’s like pulling teeth that weren’t even rotted.
So I have found my motivation, though it took a long while. My friends. I love to let my friends read my work, and I like to protect them from the truth of how miserable I am, and the moment I have nothing to give them at our weekly workshops, they’d know. So, through some mix of pride, and pure obstinance I’ve managed to hammer down words enough to get by. I’ve managed to cling to a drive.
It’s both more stressful and not, than simply not writing. Having friends to protect though almost feels like it’s what keeps me going, having someone just distant enough to believe I’m fine. In one week our workshop ends, and I’m not sure what I’m going to do, probably take them all on as BETA readers, simply so I have someone to believe in me, and someone to call me on my crap when I falter and need another kick in the ass.
It’s not easy, I’m miserable more than not, but in the tiny victories I find what keeps me going through till the end of the flare I just have to keep reminding myself will eventually come.
I hope this wasn’t too long winded, or dark, again, I’m a fantasy writer, indulge my fanciful style XD.