Writing a memoir is obviously not easy, but for me, even writing a single post about my childhood is proving as agonizing as masochistically possible. And, I swear, I’m exaggerating only a little.
Indeed, “Writing Neurotic” has come up with every excuse known to peri-menopausal woman, why “we” can’t complete even one of several posts begun for today and then abandoned–bed to make, dog to bathe, sanity to maintain. The truth is crazy Kathy (crying in the corner) can’t construct a single English sentence–a decent one, that is.
Seriously, I think my real mistake was trying to write about my childhood–too problematic for now. I’ve had some success exploring my mental illness–bipolar disorder–(as much success as one can have in that regard) and suspect I should stick with that semi-insane option for now. I need to do as I had planned–pick a month during the 90s, read the journal entries from those 4 weeks, watch the video-taped therapy sessions from that time, and go from there, even if “there” involves immediate admission to a state psychiatric facility (mental health humor intended).
However, given this colossal lack of verbal success, I’ll share visually again today–this time a small color pencil drawing that, I think, images well my current struggle.
Hope you enjoy this piece and will continue to bear with me as I fight this maddening, memoir monster.
(Click on the image to enlarge.)