Sunday, February 17, 2019

The colours have all gone

Its hard for anybody who hasn't dealt with it to understand, and it's hard to understand what anybody else deals with even if you have dealt with it.

It being mental illness.

3 days ago, I was manic. I had been manic for 3.5 weeks.

I've been depressed since Friday.

I'm not used to this.

I'm not used to being in one mood for more than a day, for more than a few hours. I am usually rapid cycling, up to 12 times in a day.

This depression hit hard and fast. I cried all day Friday and most of Saturday, and now I've hit a state of almost total anhedonia (an inability to experience pleasure). I'm not enjoying anything anymore. I have music on, but only to get me out of my head. It's starting to annoy me more than anything right now.

At least I'm not crying.

Thursday, February 14, 2019

Our first Valentine's Day

I adore you.
Cuz you don't care where I came from.
Just kiss me, in the dark while my lips are numb.
And I love, every inch of you and then some, and then some, and then some.

(Arkells - And Then Some)

I got to spend a good chunk of today with Dawson on our first Valentine's Day as a couple. It soothes my soul just to be beside him. Nobody has ever made me feel as at ease as he does. Unfortunately, he had to work, and I had an appointment, so our visit was cut shorter than either of us would have liked.

Neither of us had money for physical gifts this year. So, this post is my gift to him... I feel like it's nowhere near enough, though... you see, Dawson has a batshit crazy girlfriend. And this superstar of a man hasn't blinked even once in the past 9.5 months at anything I have thrown at him. He has such a generous heart that even when he is struggling, he will ask me how I am doing, and worries about me. I sometimes really feel like I don't deserve him. I fuckin' love him so much I wanna shout it to the world!!!

And Dawson, Happy Valentine's Day. I love you.

Monday, January 14, 2019

Monday Minisaga: Part The Second

The agony was relentless. Everything was. Yet Melissa did not cry out. She would keep this secret in silence.

Her sister could never find out what they had done. This was her atonement. This would ensure that Ashley never found out what she and Caleb did.

Tuesday, December 11, 2018

Monday Minisaga: Part The First


Serendipity.

Melissa never knew if she believed in fate, kismet, all that bullshit, until she picked up the phone. It was nobody special, just her little sister.
“Oh, hey Lis. I, huh… I meant to call Caleb’s phone.”
Melissa froze. She pulled the phone away from her face.
It was her brother-in-law’s phone.

Serendipity.

Saturday, December 8, 2018

Untitled Poem

This mask I present is just that
a mask
It's my real face but
what happens behind it
is the truth
not what you see.
Behind these eyes
I'm crying
but no tears are falling
on my cheeks.
There's a radio playing
in the back of my head
constantly
3 songs on repeat and
a playlist of hundreds of others.
Always music.
No getting away from it.
No escape.
It spins me around
messes with my head
Whose radio am I listening to?
Why are they doing this?
My mask has some cracks.
I don't know how much longer
I can hold it together.
If it breaks completely
it will be me who cracks next.
I'm not prepared for that.

© Alison Insco 2018

Thursday, November 15, 2018

It's a good day to be me

So, I have a new diagnosis, and one that isn’t entirely surprising to me.

No, we won’t start there.

Fuck this.

Today, I have had my first really real good day in weeks. But, like all days, it’s had its bleak moments. There’s never a day without some shade. But shade isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It just means the light is shining from a different angle. I just need to reframe how I’m looking at things, try a different angle.

I started a new medication last night. I didn’t expect anything; meds take time to take effect, after all. It put me to sleep within 45 minutes of taking it, and I woke up feeling refreshed and awake and not groggy and hung over. I slept 7.5 hours, only waking once, and while I know I had dreams, I don’t remember them, but I seem to feel like they were pleasant.

Tonight, I’m still good, but the length of the day is wearing on me. I have hope, though, that tomorrow will be just as good.

I’m keeping track of where I’m at with meds, increases, decreases, new meds, discontinuations… I know my doctor has it all in his computer, but the hard data doesn’t include the feelings behind the reasons for the changes. So, I keep my own record.

I’m taking a break from my NaNoWriMo project. It was causing me far too much emotional distress to continue with it right now. I’ll either write blog posts or start on something fictional to finish out the last half of the month. I’m behind by a few days at this point; I’ve never been this far behind before in all the years I’ve been participating. I guess there’s a first time for everything. It’s kind of amazing how just putting words to paper can afflict our minds in the most devastating manner. I want to finish this project, more than anything, but my mental health is priority number one. I can’t let it drag me down as far as it had, so I either need to approach it very carefully, which is difficult at best, or just set it aside until I can actually maneuver through it safely without setting off any mental landmines.

I do not know if either will ever actually happen.

Saturday, November 10, 2018

I am actually a rational adult

For those of you who have read my blog in the past few months, you might remember The Notebook Theory. My notebooks of late have been of less than good quality, but every day, I pick up whatever pages I can, I stuff them in the covers of that notebook, and I trudge through until the next day.

Every day, I wake up with a glimmer of hope that today, I will find a beautiful notebook beside me to work with. And every day, I’m disappointed. I have had one decent one and two or three okay ones in the last 2-3 weeks, and I’m not sure what I was classify today’s as. It’s got some loose pages, but they’re not quite falling out yet. The cover is kinda flimsy and feels like it my come off soon, but the paper is smooth enough that I don’t mind writing on it.

I guess you could say it’s a well-loved notebook.



NaNoWriMo started 10 days ago. As usual, I am participating, but I’m doing so quietly this year. I’m writing a story I’ve been trying to write for years, but never could. It’s deeply personal, it’s my first real attempt at non-fiction, and it’s tearing me apart… I thought I would feel guilt writing this. But I don’t. I just feel an overwhelming sadness and grief for things I thought I had mourned years ago, and for things I didn’t know I was or would be mourning in the first place.

The thing about non-fiction – for me – is that I have to pull from memory. My memory is sketchy at best, and I don’t like to rely on it for accurate information. With fiction, I can refer back to previous chapters – was this character a blonde? Were her eyes green or brown? What was the name of that town again? All of the information is readily available in black and white on the computer. With non-fiction, and in particular one based on memories, there is a lot more room for inaccuracies and missed details. Important details.

I HATE feeling like I’m telling a lie. If I am not confident in an answer, nine times out of ten I will let someone else respond first, or I will say something like, “I’m not sure, but I think…”
And when I get it wrong… I feel like shit. I feel like I’ve lied and disappointed the other person greatly. Especially when they come back to let me know I was wrong.


I swear I am actually a rational adult.

I just have some… quirks.

That’s the polite way to say it, right?


You may or may not have noticed, but I now have SIGNED PAPERBACK COPIES of my books available for sale on my website! Check them out under the books button at alisoninsco.ca!
In the next week, I am going to have some bath products up for sale, too – bath bombs and shower steamers for sure, at least. That is the plan, anyway. Keep your eyes peeled!



Back to NaNoWriMo… 2018 is my 8th year participating. I won’t let it be my first year losing. I’ve switched gears once in the story already, and have taken breaks from writing  more than a couple hundred words the last few days, but I’m not really behind yet. I’ve got less than 900 words to write in 3.5 hours. I can do that in half an hour if I put my mind to it.

Writing is a release for me. I’ve been writing since I was in the sixth grade and was barely 12 years old. I have my first story in its original handwritten format, and I transcribed it onto the computer a few years ago. It’s pretty terrible in its current iteration, but 12-year-old me wrote a 13,181 word novella. One day, I will polish it up like the hidden gem I think it could be.
So having said all that, having this story take everything out of me has been unusual and actually a little bit scary.



And now I’m blathering. I’ll back to wordvomiting my non-fiction for a while. Thanks for reading me, folks. I appreciate each and every one of you more than you know.