Archive for writing therapy

Writing Through My Worst Fear

Posted in Blog, Poetry, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , on March 29, 2009 by dustus

I have mixed emotions about fear.  Of course fear at times seems like a fight against mixed emotions.  Often when I feel apprehensive about the future, wondering if I’ll fall on my face, thirty seconds seeming worse than the thought of my own death, that’s precisely the point I hit when my emotions flood.  I’ll try my best to explain…

Future projections of my imagination are fused with remembrances. Almost seemless among the failures and triumphs of my past—it can be a bit overwhelming and sad.  Takes a few moments to regain composure from an anxiety attack; back then recovery could take a few days.  Sometimes the attacks altered the mundane things I do in daily life. I felt like I could not be myself.

It can seem like readjusting to normalcy from a bout with near-death shock, racing thoughts crash and you feel helpless. “Content” to stay at home. I’ve been down that road many times and don’t want to go back to that part of my sleepwalking mental landscape.

Writing certainly helps to put into perspective those former sensations of uncontrolled thought and irrational doom scenarios. It helps to get it all out, prompting catharsis.  As a writer, I think of this part of my life as the ugly side of imagination.

Indeed, I owe a great deal to the art of writing—it helped me overcome the panic attacks, as well as six long months of agoraphobia and depression that I have been battling since I turned thirteen.dustus2 Through writing I’ve been able to take an honest look at who I am and transform my insecurities into words.

Depression
Years felt like wilting
Into the riverbed I made
As if dirt covered
Left for dead
Each day passed
I’d hang my head

Just want to be free
Banish dreadful thought
Could not seem to seize
Tender moments
Beauty only left her sighs
Utterly alone
Trouble breathing
Then feelings numb

I write through points of pain and recall former shame, feelings of self-doubt, blame.  The poetry within me will surface, profuse torrent-like tidal waves/internal screams and shouts/carried away/my heart does say/always stay/spirit within me/a sense of loving/ Bitter-sweet/Doom & Bloom/ The times when I’m fearful/Writing does give me/Stern talking to/The more I understand/Getting over you/Fear

Anxiety
You once beat me
Into oblivion
Was hardly even
Living then

Confessions of a Workaholic

Posted in people, writing with tags , , , , , , on March 1, 2009 by dustus

A workaholic, colloquially, is a person who is addicted to work (the correct medico-legal term is “ergomania”).The phrase does not always imply that the person actually enjoys their work, but rather simply feels compelled to do it. There is no generally accepted medical definition of such a condition, although some forms of stress, obsessive-compulsive personality disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder can be work-related.                  (excerpt from Wikipedia)

____________________________________________________________________________Dustus enters Photobooth

Some people (mostly friends) consider me smart.  Man, I felt dumb this weekend.  I’ve come to the conclusion that I never really learned how to relax.  In the past I’ve always kidded myself about that. In reality, it grips me fierce and I begin to understand I’m a mindless robot to habit.  I often wonder if a lot of other people feel this way? Nonetheless, I’m partly a slave to routine because I grew up believing that working hard is more important than working smart.
Sometimes I feel so full of nervous tension and anxiety.  When I catch myself that way, I recognize things are not moving as quickly as I would like.  It has a lot to do with being impatient.  This happens a lot during winter.  I experience a “cabin fever” of sorts between December and February in Michigan. When it starts, it’s like all the caffeine I had over the past month prompts me into fidgeting, pacing about my place, unable to sit still, yet it remains too cold to go outside for more than a few minutes.  Yet worst of all: I feel like I always should be doing something, anything– have to be productive!  Well, that’s a part of my overall problem that I need to keep in check.  Cease being a workaholic and start acting like a person again! (that should be my new mantra–something like “live your life rather than dying from exhaustion”)

So to myself and blog I make this pledge:  I will chose quality time over remaining a slave to the sense of dire urgency that I feel nearly each day.  I guess I’ve always wanted to be successful; but I’m definitely going about it the wrong way and pushing aside the ones I love in the process of working through the entirety of another day.  Enough is enough already!  I’m not even done writing this blog entry and I catch myself thinking about what I have to do tomorrow. (I need to cut that shit out.)  In many ways its worse than the funk of an inhibiting bad attitude and feels most depressing when missing out on life, as well as all the things I can’t seem to find time to enjoy.  So I’m going to relax now.  After all, it is the “day of rest.”  Time to have some fun! I’m out.
–Dustus

A Written Therapy: Overcoming Depression and Anxiety through Writing

Posted in writing with tags , , , , , , , , on November 19, 2008 by dustus

What do I want out of life? It’s a simple, straightforward question; however, I can’t help thinking I’m way off in asking that. Maybe I just want too much? After all, I’ve been conditioned to think I need to obtain things like status and recognition. Perhaps I’ve gone through life seeking glory and asking a ton of meaningless questions? Or is it that stubborn streak in me that seems to crave acceptance?

While I don’t have any answers, I do know where I’ve been.

I used to suffer from severe anxiety and depression. Such feelings and panic attacks severely limited my life. I tried to shun as much social contact as possible. Never believing I would change, thinking for many years that I was doomed to feeling like a person who couldn’t handle his own emotions; something finally did happen. It took a long time, but once getting a grip on what I was experiencing, I resolved to keep trying to understand the source of these fears in my journal. Though painful at times, I dissected almost every thought and recurring memory that I had not accepted in childhood and adolescence. As a result, the more I wrote, the less frequent the panic attacks. I got much better and owe a great deal of my recovery to the discipline of writing.

While trying to figure out what was wrong with me, I developed my writing voice, which in turn inspired the many hours I spent honing my craft. More than becoming a writer, I began to look at the world outside of my negatively ingrained habits and prejudices. Writing is therapy. I feel the need to write. While I still don’t have any real answers to much of my self-questioning, I’ve come to befriend the very best part of myself. I respect my ability to reflect and have resolved to respect Life as a curious mystery 🙂