Today the word count of my embryonic novel has passed the 62 thousand word point, which I’m told is meant to mean that it gets easier because I’m meant to be well past the difficult ‘getting started’ point. I don’t really feel that way though right now.
Cognitive Behavioral Therapy is a method for treatment of mental health disorders such as depression and anxiety. I’ve been waiting for my referral to a CBT counsellor for what feels like forever, with my GP changing me from drug to drug, increasing my dosage, all the while telling me that what she thinks I really need is CBT.
I worry sometimes whether I’m deluding myself. These are often my darkest moments, when the muse has gone quiet and I’m sitting with a notebook or an app of some sort in front of me, and the thought presents itself: “I’m not actually any good at any of this”.
Sometimes trying to be creative when being me, with this anxious, easily distracted but difficult to steer mind, is difficult. At times, I feel a little like a child walking into the greatest toyshop in the world, and being unable to move because so many urges and so many bright shiny colours are trying to drag my mental state in so many different directions.
“Ooh! Oooh! Over here!” shouts a fascinating concept for a webcomic.
“Pick me! Pick me!” cries an innovative idea for a social networking website.
“I’m the one you want!” the shrieking voice of a videogame concept echoes around my head.