If I Only Had Time Is Bullshit, Sorta

Spring 2020 I ended my long-term relationship with T. I thought I would have lots of time. I remember thinking about all the things that I would do once I was single, especially as I was single during a time that was after the initial lockdown, but while everyone was still supposed to be keeping a smaller circle, going out much much less, etc. I suddenly had Monday nights, Wednesday nights, and every other Friday and Saturday nights to myself to make plans with myself. I was writing more, meditating more, binging shows I wanted to watch more. I didn’t want to start any new romantic relationships and didn’t even see how that would be possible. 

Within a month though, I was messaging and having virtual dates with people who had been my friends in the BDSM community or over facebook, just to see what would happen. It was sexy and thrilling to know that these people wanted me too, when I had thought that my dating life might sorta be over. Then I started messaging with E regularly and by the end of June, we were dating regularly. I was spending Wednesday nights with him, then weekends when I didn’t have the kids, and even sometimes Mondays. We’d talk every night until late at night. Much of that writing and meditating time was sacrificed to spend that time with him. I was ok with that, knew that it was what happens when I get in a relationship, but it still went away. I still kept dreaming about getting to quit my day job and write full time. Then I changed my schedule so I could preschool-ing the kids in the mornings on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday before going to work 2pm-10pm. At first I had the dream that I could write on Tuesday or Friday mornings, but what I found was that I was really sleeping in and grocery shopping those days, as I couldn’t do it any of the times I had the kids with me or after work. (One kid wears her mask pretty well but the other kid has sensory issues and won’t leave his on.) I kept dreaming about how I wanted a week off work where I could just write. 

As usual, the universe did give me what I asked for, just not how I might have hoped. By the end of January, I was having pain in my left leg. At first it just felt like I just needed to stretch, which I did. By the end of the first week, though, I was having numbness and pain in my left calf if I stood on it too long. I went to the doctor and started PT. After 2 months of this though, my pain got even worse. I spent one week where I cancelled on the kids and work every day because it wasn’t better. After that I went on FMLA and started pursuing seeing a pain doctor, to get a cortisone shot. I switched up kid days, so that I didn’t need to get up in the morning to get them anymore, since the morning is by far my worst time of the day. I have them overnight 2 nights during the week and then do school work the next morning with them. (Yes, my co-parents are very flexible and we don’t have any custody schedule filed with the court currently, so we can change this easily enough.)

That should give me plenty of time to write, right? In theory, yes. But in practice, most of this time, when I’m not with kids or doing the absolutely necessary chores, I’ve been laying down, as it is the least painful position to be in. It is difficult to type in any of the comfortable laying positions. I also just don’t have the energy while dealing with the pain. So I have had time for writing, I haven’t had the mobility or the free energy. 

Two weeks ago, during a conversation with E, I realized that he doesn’t fully understand my mental illness or know my struggles with it. (I should say mental illnesses, plural, as I manage both bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder, but really borderline is the one that he knows less about and has taken more mental effort to manage, while my bipolar disorder is mostly well managed with medication.) An idea that had been on the back burner for a while had been to write him something that would give him an idea of what BPD looked like in me, but I hadn’t had time for doing that either. After that conversation though, I realized that it needed to get bumped up the list. As I was brainstorming that though, I realized that I could write a book with all of this information. Last Tuesday, when I didn’t have children at all and wouldn’t see E in the evening either, I sat down and spent all day typing things out for E. It was more of an outline of the specific issues that arise with my BPD, how I have learned to manage those issues, and how he can help me if I am having a difficult time managing those issues. It came to 18 pages typed. Then I started working on an outline for the book, which would include more personal anecdotes about my life living with BPD and then adding in more polished versions of what I had written for E. Yesterday was another Tuesday. I worked on filling in the outline more, but by hand in my notebook while laying in bed. 

I also have several other things that I would like to write. A fiction short story. A few blog posts that I had written the ideas out for but hadn’t actually filled in. Working on either one of my novels that i have outlined. Writing a piece to hopefully catch the eye of a local online magazine so they might give me a paying writing gig. Currently, sitting in an office chair usually isn’t too painful. They provide more support for my back and I’m getting better every day at keeping my posture good. I have gotten the cortisone shot last Friday, though I am still having a bit of pain. Even before that though, I was able to sit in my desk chair to type. 

So now I technically have the time to write. I can even often sit up at a computer to type. But the thing that gave me that time drains my energy and emotional resources so I do not always want to write, do not always feel like I have the headspace to write. And I’m supposed to be healing, not writing. Should I push through and write? Or do I heal, not write, and then I’m back in the same spot when I have to go back to work of not having the time to write? What if I can’t go back to work at my current job? I’m trying to thread the needle between those first two questions, while also not letting myself get depressed or down, in part because of that third question. I would love to work full-time as a writer. As E and I get closer to moving in, the agreement is that I could quit my current job to do anything else I wanted as long as I could make as much as I was making in my current job, which isn’t a whole hell of a lot, but it has been enough to (mostly) keep my head above water on my own with the 2 kids part-time in a 2 bedroom apartment in a decent school district. So here is me, working on writing regularly, no DAILY, on my multiple projects so that maybe I can not do my job. Or in case I can’t ever do my job. Wish me luck. Hopefully more will be showing up here too.