I use to run for fun. I was never in any competitive running teams nor would I ever join but, I know enough about running that you don't sprint in the beginning.
You start slow, build your pace, keep that pace, and
run like hell at the end to the finish line.
Even knowing this, I fail to remember that
I'm bearing the weight of mental illness on my race.
I sprinted right out of the gate and I've exhausted myself.
I had every good intention.
Got a shiny new planner.
Listed all the resolutions and all the things that I promised I would do/accomplish.
I was pumped and sat down and managed to write four chapters of a romance novel.
But that was a few days ago.
Today, I'm feeling the shadow of PMDD looming over me.
And I'm finding it hard to concentrate, harder to "keep calm."
I want off this track.
In a few days, I'll walk out of this fog and feel whole again.
I'll probably more than likely forget about this feeling of impending doom.
I'll forget about this pressure that is sitting above my chest.
I'll feel whole again.
And then be ready to write swoon worthy moments between my MC (main character) and her friend-turned-lover.
But in all honesty, it sucks to be here.
This truth that I feel myself slipping away.
This cycle is vicious.
I drink too much coffee, read too many books, and in between raising miracle babies, I find time to write.