Tell Me There’s a Reason Why I’m Seeing What I Do

My guest tonight is the lovely goddess of jelly, Trish, who many of you may know better as Astrogirl426. Author of the blog “Notes From the Bunker,” Trish is a 2nd-time guest on SecondHand Radio.

I don’t have a recent photo of Trish because her current Twitter avatar only shows this weird shot of her all dressed in some feathery black angel outfit. Or something.

See for yourself.

I think Trish is screaming here, “Why must I be married? Why can’t I have Karl?! He is incredible!” Or she might be saying, “I’m not interesting! What am I going to say on Karl’s show tonight?” Cuz, y’know, Trish is like most of my other guests, who seem to think they’re “boring.” Whatever.

I tried explaining to her that if she was boring, I wouldn’t have her come BACK to my show. But she’s stubborn, like me, and refuses to believe it.

Trish is a renaissance woman. She writes, she photographs, she cooks, she jars her own jelly and preserves, and she dresses in odd costumes. Hoping she’ll dress as a pirate wench for her next photo shoot, but that’s another matter altogether.

I highly recommend that you go to my SecondHand Radio info page, register at Talkshoe.com and download the Talkshoe client (though not required, I think it’s a superior chatroom experience).

You’ll be there, right? And if you have trouble getting into the show for some reason, feel free to call in (using the phone number below) and you can listen on the phone that way. I can leave you on mute, if you prefer.

Showtime: 10PM EST, 9PM CST, 8PM Mountain, 7PM Pacific

Show Link:

http://www.talkshoe.com/tc/23738

Call-in Number: (724) 444-7444, Call ID 23738

2HRadio Info (including complete list of upcoming guests)

The Manuscript is Found. And Dusty.

The timing of the Universe is many times astounding. I wrote that story months ago, and it went live today. Of all days. Now.

All I know is I really appreciate the many comments and texts and DM’s, offering me your support. Particularly today.

Clearly I don’t handle such things very well.

Part of that whole “surrounded” thing I talked about the other day. I’m so sick of feeling down, feeling sorry for myself. Shit, the truth is I don’t LET myself truly feel sorry for myself. Nevertheless. The whining, the incessant navelgazing of late…ugh.

I’d like to request that the funny Karl come back, please. I like him more.

I went digging and found my autobiography manuscript today. And as I agreed, I won’t read it until I get to the Matrix Therapist next. I can only imagine that she’s gonna want me to read this shit out loud at our next session.

There are a number of traditional therapy exercises that give me the chills. One of them involves talking to an empty chair, pretending I’m talking to someone in my life (past or present) and saying what I REALLY need to say to that person…but can’t.

Another involves anger therapy, which takes on many forms. Beating up pillows, shredding paper, hitting a mattress with a baseball bat, hitting a full body-bag with a bat. I have trouble connecting with anger. A lot. For me, the “worst” method I found for anger therapy involved boxing gloves on that full body-bag. Oof. Physical body pain manisfestations, anyone?

I hate having to come up with a list of positive things about me. Hate. On the other hand, I could go all day with negative shit. That list? Not a problem.

And I am pretty sure I’ll hate having to read my half-written autobiography to the Matrix Therapist. Something tells me she’s going to try to get me to FEEL something. About myself. For myself.

Whilst digging through tons of boxes, looking for the manuscript, I found old notebooks of mine. Spiral notebooks which acted as journals, doodlepads, repositories for my book snippets. There’s something more visceral about writing in longhand, I find. There was a time that I was ALWAYS writing that autobiography. Everywhere I went. Restaurants, bars, during breaks in group therapy. I’d write page after page, then go home at the end of the day and transcribe all that shit into the computer.

And I wrote a lot of (bad) poetry, as evidenced here. (Click to biggify, and I apologize in advance. Fuck, I was an emo little bastard, just with better hair and no eyeliner.)

Also found several unfinished novel manuscripts. Shit, unfinished.

Story of my life.

Literally.

Filed under 2HRadio, Bloggity Blog, Books, Depression, Therapy | Comments (2)