I’m two seconds away from shutting this whole operation down.
I get this way. A lot. I’m the queen of inviting you to my Facebook page and then tearing it down the moment you get there so you can forever wonder if I have some sort of vendetta against you that involves stealing all of your microwavable popcorn and that snow globe your Uncle Hal brought you back from Tucson. I’m going through that right now. I’m having that itchy feeling again and all I can think about is shutting down Creative Liar, my Facebook page and Twitter. And I don’t even have any popcorn or a snow globe or an Uncle Hal to cheer me up.
Really, I’m just overwhelmed. I do this to myself. I get involved in a lot and then when it starts to break me down I just want to hit the “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” button and go hide in a corner. But I’m not going to do that this time. Instead, I’m going to stick this shit through and do what I do worse. Open up.
I’ve talked about my anxiety before, but I don’t know if I’ve talked about my depression. Depression is an interesting bitch. As a writer I need her. I crave her. One time they gave me medication, and I missed her. I thought without depression I can’t write, I can’t do anything with passion and all I’ll end up is one of those suburban housewives whose greatest feat is hitting a sale at Target and posting their finds on Facebook. Kill. Me.
But things are a little different now. Depression is no longer my greatest foe and I’ve kind of gotten over the craving to continuously braid her hair. Instead, I’m up against anxiety, and I’ve learned she’s an even bigger bitch with nicer boobs than me. I mean, I get so fucking anxious that when I’m driving down a street and I see someone walking their dog, I panic because I don’t know if I’m supposed to wave, honk, ignore them, eat a sub sandwich… So many possibilities! I get anxious because I know people expect me to be the funny quirky girl and sometimes I just want to punch everyone in the face. But not you. You’re grand.
The point of all this? I guess to let you know that I’m swamped, I’m agitated, I’m fucking irritated and yet? I’m miserably happy. I’m excited about my business and I’m horrendously shocked at how awesome it feels to be in charge of my life while sitting in my pajamas. Okay, yoga pants, but still. Matt and I are super best friends and I sometimes take that for granted. He’s really been so supportive and pretty much living without him would mean dressing up as Alf and asking strangers if I can eat their cats. So folks, you should be grateful he exists. My daughter is joy unaltered. Period. I have a great sister. She’s not my “real” sister, but if I believed in “real,” I wouldn’t be a grown adult writing a blog and obsessed with Hanson. And I’m still writing, heart sparked passionate as ever.
I think this year I’m going to change a few things. Me for starters. I’m going to keep this blog, but I’m going to use it more for me than for anyone or anything else. I was thinking about shutting down comments, but I love that you guys read me and that I’ve made some sort of impression on you even if it means you’ve taken to keying cars. So keep commenting and I’ll keep commenting back. Just bear with me if it takes a little while. You may see me less in your newsfeed and on Twitter but I’m still around. If you want to say “hi” just message me or email me at firstname.lastname@example.org. Also, I’m going to use this blog as a therapist of sorts every now and again. I may be funny. I may not. I just need a little more freedom if that’s okay with you folks.
So get ready for Ericka unplugged. It’s a lot like Ericka plugged with a smidge more profanity and way better hair. And 43% more Alf.