This month has been really hard. Actually, this whole winter has been really hard. Not just because it’s cold and gray and the sunshine is (usually) lacking and my health isn’t so great right now—aside from the frigid air making it harder for me to breathe, I also have a lung infection, MAC, that is going to require a year of nasty treatment, and I still have about 8 months of it left. So I’ve been pretty miserable, physically . . . but that’s not the worst of it.
No, the worst part of this winter is that last week my beloved pup, Thatcher, passed away. (If you’re sensitive to reading about pet loss or death and grief in general, you probably shouldn’t read on.)
As I write this, I’m trying to ignore the tinnitus in my left ear. It started this morning when I woke up (45 minutes before my alarm, thanks to a call from the doctor’s office, grr) and hasn’t gone away yet. It’s probably due to the change in air pressure; a front moved in last night and there was a big storm and it’s still overcast late this morning as I type. Oh well, at least I don’t have a pressure-change migraine. And I’ve got my UV lamp on to ward off the glooms.
Well, this past year certainly flew by like a whirlwind! If you want to see what I got up to, work- and business-wise, check out this post in Thinklings’ blog. I thought I’d talk here in my personal blog about more, of course, personal stuff. ;)
Life update: Well, if you haven’t seen in my social media, I’m sick again. My autoimmune disease has once again—after four years—reared its ugly head and decided to chew up my lungs. So I’m back on a medicine (for three weeks, which is mercifully short) that I call “demon pills.” Those filthy demons are the one bit of trauma in my life that I still can’t really talk about, so please don’t ask what medicine it is and what it does. But it’s horrible.
Anyway, I thought I would write, this month, about how to deal with people who are suffering or going through trauma. Any kind of trauma. Because since I have about three decades of experience in that department (15.5 years of being sick, plus daily bullying from K–12), I thought I should put that to some good use and help others understand, if only just a little bit more.
February is my least favorite month of the year. It’s cold, dreary, and winter has definitely overstayed its welcome. . . . Not that it’s welcome past New Year’s Day! ;P
But at least this February is not as bad as usual. Why, you ask? Well . . .
I was going to write another peppy post about what was great about last year and what I’m looking forward to this year...
It wouldn’t be very authentic. Because I’m struggling. With health, with hope, with knowing what to do in ANY AREA of my life. I feel lost, floating in a dark place; I don’t know where I am, how big this place is, how to get out...
Thinklings’ newest book (Sand to Glass, a dark literary fantasy) has got me thinking more than usual, lately, about mental health, personality types, and how everyone has their own way of coping with stress. . . . It’s a timely book—very timely, indeed!
I recently came across this article about how a lot of authors don’t feel like they have much or any support from their family and friends, when it comes to their writing. It struck a big enough chord in me to write a blog post about it.
The picture above may be silly, but it is true: I never dreamed of starting/owning/running a business. My answer to "What do you want to be when you grow up?" was not even once "an entrepreneur." Far from it: as far back as I can remember, I've wanted to be a writer . . . specifically, a novelist. Working alone in a quiet room, not having to deal with people. Introvert paradise.
One of the hardest parts of Hunter’s Moon for me to write was the scene when Mel wakes up after her first transformation. The horror of said transformation itself was, believe it or not, easier for me to write than the aftermath! Because the morning after, Mel has much more time to think and process and dwell on what’s happened to her, since her mind is not being wiped away and the pain is no longer all-consuming.
Sarah Awa lives in Ohio with two hairy guys and writes books about werewolves.