The Book Is Written But My Pupation Is Inevitable
After starting to write the book in May this year, I wrote every day. Sometimes just a few words, other times a thousand. I'd have ideas all the time, frantically writing notes on my phone if I was away from a computer, or leaving voice notes, also on my phone if I was driving so I wouldn't forget. I started writing my story and thoughts to help me out of the dark. I'd become quite depressed at the time and these moments were becoming more and more regular, so getting it all out through writing seemed like a good idea. After all, it's seen as a great self-help method for this kind of thing.
After a few weeks, I decided to start this blog so that I could write shorter articles to help give me more freedom and a bit of inspiration for the book. It worked extremely well, It has generated lots of interest and messages of recognition and encouragement from other adoptees. The response has been incredible and it's something I wasn't expecting at all.
The writing has taken over my life these last few months, If I've not been at work or seeing my kids, I've been formulating blogs or chapters and I've thought of nothing else. You see, that's what I do, Years ago I fitted a wooden floor in a flat I was living in, then I did another for someone in the family and before I knew it, it was a proper business that consumed about 3 years of my life. Then there was an interest in photography, I took photos for fun for a few years, gradually getting better cameras and equipment as my skills improved. I was asked if I would shoot a wedding for someone, I agreed. This turned into a 10-year photography business with so many facets I could hardly keep up with it. Totally consuming.
During lockdown in 2020, I started making Cigar Box Guitars and once again I lost myself in something. This went from making a few just to pass the time, to having a logo, a website, a Facebook page, and I was starting to make to order.
What all of these infatuations have in common is that they all ended abruptly, almost overnight. One day, I'm in love with it, the next I want to be as far away from them as I can, I've had enough. Like someone had turned off that part of me that latched on so tightly. The attachment issues I so often struggle with towards people that are so evident in my life, don't just stop at human contact, they seem to have pushed their roots into every aspect of me.
I guess that I'm worried that the same will be true of writing. I've always wanted to write, I know it sounds corny but I've always felt there's a writer in me and now that I've found it, I never want to lose it. It's as if writing is 'plate spinning'. I have to keep going, keep on coming up with ideas that I can turn into a paragraph or a chapter, but I have to keep my eye on those plates, keep them spinning on their thin sticks. If I take my eye off them for a second, they slow down, wobble, and they fall and smash on the ground. Once that happens, this flow of words stops, and stops forever.
Something else I wasn't expecting was the second wave of depression. I started the process of writing feeling low, detached, and frail. But the more I wrote, the more comfortable I felt. I kept posting my blogs and the likes and comments kept coming in. I enjoyed the feeling of knowing that I was reaching people, they were reading my words and seeing something of themselves reflected back. Finally, I was less alone in my head and I was becoming lighter and brighter everyday. eventually it seemed as if i was becoming a normal, self-regulating, happy-go-lucky member of society. I was almost excited, and it felt great.
I carried on in this mini, almost bipolar 'high' for while, almost buzzing with the prospect of finally becoming the writer I've always wanted to be. Then I started editing.
The editing process involves re-reading all the things I've pulled out of my head over the last few months and it was tougher than I was expecting. Having to read those words over and over again, starts to become a torturous task. In the same way that other people who have visited the blog had recognised something of themselves, I too was seeing myself reflected back and it started to pull me back in the hole. At the same time, I started to have weekly counselling sessions, so not only was I reading about myself in excruciating detail, I was having to talk about myself too.
Consequently, I now find myself rolling about in the dark places I was in when I first started to write. I'm cold to the world again, numb, emotionless, and a touch angry. the strange thing is that I don't yet feel the urge to set myself free. That caterpillar turns into a beautiful butterfly, for that butterfly to be able to get its stunning wings, it needs to pupate and we always forget about the disgusting rebirth it has to go through to get there. I'm building my chrysalis, it's dark, cramped, lonely, uncomfortable and the final stages are a sticky mess, but it's happening at least. I live in the hope that it's going to be worth the effort and that I don't end up smeared across the windscreen of a car at the end of it all.
'Who's Wally?' the Book, is so far still on target for publishing at the end of this month and can't wait to share it with you. I have to admit that I'm scared to death about the prospect of the contents of my little brain being out there for all to see, but its a process I really need to complete.
If nothing else, I owe it to myself.
Image: © Andy Wallis
