Victory

(Yeah, this post is a little after the fact, but it takes me a while to sort and process feelings and to organize my thoughts before I can even work on logically stringing those thoughts together in order to make at least some sense. It is quite the process.)

Holy crap, I can’t believe I just published another book! I still can’t believe I’ve finished working on it! This is rather cliché, but it’s true: the past few days have felt like I was in a dream where nothing has seemed real. A wonderful yet scary yet sad feeling. Part of it is that it has been so hard to let go of the novel: there’s always something to do; there’s always something to “improve.”

This really is an amazing time for me, for in just a little over a year, I’ve published two books. Two! That is such a huge accomplishment for someone like me.

This novel was not easy for me to publish and I did hesitate to do it since the content delves into so many personal and sensitive topics that are a part of my life. But I am really proud of myself for having the courage to publish it and for taking such a big risk by putting out there something as original and challenging as San Jose's Darlings, which explores the dark and insidious and unseemly corridors of mental illness. I have never felt more gratified than I do now.

Although I do want the book to sell, I don’t need to sell another copy to know that I’ve scored a huge victory. At the moment, I feel like I’ve totally won at life, which is a feeling I rarely experience. Over the last ten years I’ve gone through plenty of troubling and traumatic experiences, but these last two years have been particularly difficult, even though I have been well cared for and greatly assisted. I don’t think I’ve been more terrified, which is saying a lot considering the extreme nature of my mental illnesses. So troubled and frightened was I that I didn’t think it possible that I would ever pull out of the tailspin I was in (unless I moved out of the place I’m currently staying at), much less write again. There were a number of things going on that could have absolutely destroyed me, that could have caused me to not only quit working on this novel but to quit writing altogether.

It’s hard for me to not listen to and to not ingest nasty, cutting comments; expressions of disapproval and doubt; snickering and mocking—especially when these come from someone I should have been able to naturally trust. My brain picks up on this junk, tormenting me by replaying these words and sentiments over and over again until I feel like I’m about to go crazy, until I become infected with the poison of irrational doubt, guilt, or fear. (You can’t sip from a bottle of poison and not become ill.) These irrational doubts, guilt, and fears are giant, fifty-foot tidal waves that are always threatening to crash down upon me. Whenever they do, I am either dashed to bits or I am drowned, thereby becoming an absolute mess. The persistent doubt alone is so powerful at times that it crushes me underneath its heel, causing me to strain and to struggle as I work on wiggling out from underneath its hefty weight.

In general, I expect members of society to make fun of me, to say mean things to me or about me, but I never expected junk like this to come from a person who should have been first on my list of supporters. I had to bite my tongue quite a bit over the past couple of years, which is never easy for me to do, as I battled intense rage that could have easily taken over and caused all kinds of destruction and violence. Pretty scary to think about, actually, so I will move on.

In the past, this stuff alone would have destroyed my self-esteem and confidence. This latest book of mine would have become derailed entirely as I either sought a way to respond or a way out of the situation. But I won the battle of wills between myself and this person who has been trying over the last decade to manipulate me (through sly comments; by having trusted friends, clergy members, and other people try to dissuade me) into quitting my writing pursuits. It wasn’t easy to write this book while a miasmatic, suffocating aura of disapproval hung over me the whole time.

But that stuff wasn’t the worst of it. I’ve been putting this part off because it’s the hardest to talk about. Please bear with me. I live with someone I have been utterly terrified of. Terrified is too tame of a word to describe how I felt. Horrified is probably more accurate. Well, anyways. . . This person is someone who, like all men, is uncomfortable around me, except when this individual is in the same room as me, his actions are more extreme than those of other dudes who simply jam their hands into their pockets when I’m around. This person I speak of has panic attacks whenever I’m nearby, and he feels the need to shield his crotch from me with his hand. This guy practically cups his balls in front of me. A little messed up, right? To be fair, I believe he has mental health issues that he has never sought help for.

So, I feel like I’ve been traumatized every day for the last two years. I’ve seen things that hopefully won’t haunt me forever. The pain and fear from simply being around this person has been really bad, often leaving me witless as I internally writhed in pain while feeling like my soul was being crushed in a giant fist or under a massive anvil. This experience has messed me up even more, but it also has numbed me even more, which is good I guess. It has caused me to further separate myself from society. Any desire to talk to people or to even engage with others has been totally eradicated. I’m pretty much done with society; I’m pretty much done with people, especially other men, who are sick, perverted animals (I won’t ever forget the evil I’ve seen in them). I am better off alone, living far away from everyone. I would love nothing more than to live in a cabin in the woods and be left the hell alone by people who try to insert themselves into my life and into my business, by betrayers I should be able to naturally trust.


(Side note: It is incredibly difficult for anyone to be around me. You see, whenever my mind becomes riled up or whenever I experience a flood of anxiety, which happens often, my body is wired to respond with an erection. [Well, I either have this or I have the wiggles, but never both at the same time.] It has always been this way for me, although before my mental break, it took a great deal of stress and anxiety for my body to react. Since the Break, this problem has become much more severe. With my mind affecting my central nervous system in such a bizarre manner, it is very hard to keep my body under control. And because my fears concerning my body are quite high, the problem has only become exacerbated. To keep my body in check, I literally have to keep my mind and my heart as blank as possible, in addition to doing lots of therapy.)


Getting San Jose's Darlings done required a series of miracles that allowed me to write and then finish this book. If it wasn’t for God’s help and mercy, there is no way the novel would have been completed. He gave me the strength and the peace I needed whenever I asked for it. I was truly blessed throughout the whole process.

Lastly, I just wanted to share with you the most important lesson I’ve learned from this thoroughly humbling experience of the last couple of years: I can do anything I wish to do—and I can do it well!—no matter how difficult the circumstances are that I find myself in.