Mamamontezz's Mental Rumpus Room

Okay, it's time...

I know that it has been a matter of some small curiosity as to why I quit writing for a long time, longer than even I intended. I've given it a lot of thought, and decided that I'd just use this as my forum for thrashing it out. Bear with me, please. I'm sure some of you have felt the same things.

To begin with, let me say that menopause is a bitch. A vicious, uncaring, heartless bitch who will rip your heart out one moment and then toss you the pieces, and in the next moment will render you numb and emotionally impotent. It has finally started for me, and because I am unable to take hormones for the psychological side effects I am stuck with the radical and unpredictable mood swings. There are days when I muddle through like an automaton, and others when I'm like the poster child for bipolar disorder. Keeping one coherent thought is hard enough without trying to string two together on the page. No, it's not an excuse, merely a factor. And there are more.

The world around me has left me disillusioned and disappointed. The people I trusted to use power wisely have turned out to be so much more of the status quo. A war that I find both just and necessary has been spun into dross by people who are so afraid of the world that they never leave their hotel in Baghdad and only report those things that are Spectatular. Bombs are spectacular. Rebuilt schools are not. Kidnappings are spectacular. Running water is not. Protests by historically agressive factions are spectacular. Families with rebuilt homes are not. And my little voice could do nothing to change that, nothing to fix it, nothing to hold these lazy, self-centered pretenders to Journalism accountable. And this helped to silence my voice. A caged bird will sing, but not one under a cover.

The situation with the Spousal Unit's disability, and the depths to which we sank trying futilly to hang on during the process was almost more than I could handle. I cannot tell you the number of times I seriously thought of walking away, finding my place in the world alone, no responsibilities but my own. But I could not do that. I'm an adult. I have responsibilities. I have people for whom I care and who care for me that did not need the drama of my selfishness during this. It got to the point that it was easier not to think at all than to think of what was happening. Now, with his disability coming in monthly, I will be able to pay my bills without asking if water were more important than gas, were more important than the phone, were more important than the electriciy. I will be able to afford the luxury of thought.

But even as I stayed, miserable as I was and miserable as I know I made everyone here, I began to search for myself. Yes, I know, how "lame, 60's, hippy" that is, but you know after living like I have my whole life denying who and what I was, it needed to be explored. I have found things that make me wary of myself and things that I never even recognized that I now celebrate. I've found aspects of myself that I never dreamed I'd find.

And now... Where am I now? I don't know, really. I know what is happening now is better than it was, and that some small part of me wants to write again. The better question is not whether or not to write, but rather on what to write. I cannot bring myself to even look at Drudge or even Lucianne without the frustration and disappointment rising to the surface again like bitter bile in my throat. But there will be something. It might not be every day, and it may not be like anything you've read here before, but as I rediscover my voice I will begin to post more regularly.

As I do, I hope that you will be patient, be kind, and realize that every journey has rocky places as well as lush and verdant ones. I've crossed the rocks, and the meadow in the distance looks like a good place for staying for a while. Come and enjoy it with me. I'm sure it's not quite like it looks from a distance, but isn't discovery an important part of the journey?