For reasons that seem too silly to explain, the majority of this LJ will now be friends-locked.

I will friend pretty much anyone who lets me know where we know each other, though, so you can leave a comment, or PM me, or whatever.  It's cool.  I suppose I should let you know my journal is about 1/3 fannish (TV, movies, books), 1/3 life/work rambling, and 1/3 self-involved crap.  Or perhaps the self-involvement is rambling and the work is boring-ass crap.  Either way.

Any new fic (God, hopefully one day there will be new fic!) will remain public.

I hadn't been feeling well for a couple of weeks: nausea and abdominal pain that came and went unpredictably.  Because it wasn't constant, I chalked it up to stress and poor eating habits due to my long-ass schedule for work.  Then I started throwing up.  Again, I assumed stomach flu, or something similar.  Until the actual puking, I was too focused on working to worry too much about what was going on.  Spring Break was approaching, and I needed to make my hours in the weeks leading up.  My licensure is approaching, so missing anything that would put that off was not on.

I will admit now that the vomiting didn't even get me to the doctor for three days. I will also admit that I had, on more than one occasion thought to myself, "There is something wrong," and that I did nothing until I woke up Friday morning two weeks ago, started throwing up again and then my nose started bleeding.

Urgent care sent me immediately to the ER, who immediately admitted me, because apparently my gall bladder was seriously infected, with stones blocking all kinds of things, causing bile to build up in my system.  After the x-rays, the ultrasound, and the (panic-attack-inducing) MRI, I had the first of two procedures to remove the stones blocking my bile duct and to put in a stint.  I had the actual surgery to remove my gall bladder the next day.  I was told by the first of my surgeons that, had I waited another day, I would have ended up in ICU.  Apparently my bloodwork was worringly high.

You know, when you're in the hospital, there is no such thing as propriety.  Your entire body is open for others to push and prod and stick things in.  Usually, you're unconscious and completely unaware of what's being done to you.  I had surgery twice, so naturally I was catheterized twice.  Then again after the second surgery when I was unable to urinate on my own and in so much pain I was crying and shaking, except for that one I was awake and aware of the two nice ladies getting intimate with my ladyparts.  Two days after I got home - after 4 days in the hospital - I was able to finally scrub off the tape residue under my breasts, used to keep them out of the way during the sceond surgery.  Every day I was asked about my eating, urinating, flatulance, and bowel habits.

It was all very intimate, and yet not, at the same time.  I never felt violated.  But it is a weird, kind of shaking feeling when I realize I've been touched more through this experience than I have in almost six years.

It's been two weeks, and I am feeling much better physically.  The first week was hell and I just sort of existed on my bed, feeling queasy and unable to eat anything of substance.  I'm still careful about what I eat and how I eat.  The introduction of new foods is an act of faith that I'm not going to be made uncomfortable.  Today I had pizza.  It felt akin to a religious experience.  My insides still feel bruisey and bloated, though I don't look nearly as weird as I did for awhile.

I'm returning to work this week.  My emotional reactions to that are complicated and generally not-good.  I don't know what to do about that except do it and hope the anxiety lessens.  I also cry a lot now.  That's gotten a little better.  It's one thing to understand, Oh hey, I went through this incredibly painful and traumatic experience.  It's another to actually deal with the aftermath and try to be a normal person with a high-stress job that requires being able to appear normal to other people all day.

So this is me now: weird and afraid of things I wasn't afraid of before and really wishing I had another week to stay home and think about all this stuff I went through, and yes, hide.  Most times on most days, I really want to hide, and I don't know why.  I have hope and faith that this will improve, given enough time, because that's what I tell my clients.

Thank you for signing up for this exchange.  I have faith in you, but I do have a couple of requests.

Likes: messing with sexual/gender norms, happy endings, magic, dragons

Dislikes: Graphic depictions of violence/torture, rape

Additional Prompts and Etc: For any story you choose to write, please know I love girls and women being clever and kind and brave and awesome.  Feel free to place your story outside the time and/or setting in which it was originally written.  I am a total sucker for love stories.  I think writers who are able to take the accepted version of a story and turn it around so we see characters in a different light deserve medals.  I mean, that's why we do this, right?

I know I'm short on details, but I hope this helps somewhat.

Good luck.  I appreciate all your efforts!

Best, Diana

So, writing.

I've only sporadically written original fiction over the past 15 years, so I don't recall if the drive is the same as it has been when writing fanfic.  But that Hurry hurry hurry keep writing OMG KEEP WRITING WHAT ARE YOU DOING SLEEPING WRITE WRITE WRITE, when I'm trying to be all Dude, chill, there isn't a due date looming, just sort of creeps me out.

I mean, I get that writing amps me up and I usually, honestly, ingest more caffeine while writing.  And sugar.  But I also wonder if a part of it, at least recently, is out of fear that I won't finish the story, that the ideas that are fuelling me and keeping me engaged will stop, and that the drive to finish will end.

I don't know if this story is any good, or original, or will say what I want it to, but it definitely wants to be told.  So I tell it.

Yesterday I went to a local comics and zine fest and it was good and awesome.  I came home feeling like I do every time I attend similar events, feeling invigorated and bursting with the urge to be creative.  Of course, whenpreviously encountering this feeling, I wrote about it in my journal and never really followed through.  Last night, as I was - my hand to the sky - writing the following words, Being surrounded by others with the same creative compulsion and who find ways to channel their creativity into these perfectly imperfect little books causes me to feel driven to do the same, that old familiar feeling crept over me.  It whispered, Oh Pu-leeze; it poked me with memories of every fucking time I had probably written the same fucking words. It sent images to my mind of each damn journal, dating back to 2000, in which I had written them.

Then I told that voice to shut the fuck up, came up with the name of my new zine, and changed the subject by suffering vicarious embarrassment through the Aaliyah biopic on TV.

This morning, though, I had a thing. Revelation? Epiphany? Simple clear thought that makes things seem less awful and repetitive?

I mean, isn't that what I'm doing here? Isn't this what I've been doing since 2008?

Last night, I came home exhausted (as such socially intense events seem to make me) and hungry. I ordered pizza, took a shower, and drowned myself in zines I had picked up throughout the day.  With the exception of the brilliant and hilarious X-Files fanzine "They Call him Spooky," all the zines I picked up fell into the Personal Zine category (aside: write the word zine over and over and I'm reminded of when Anna Marie and I first started to grasp onto those strings of friendship that pushed the bounds of our previous manager-supervisee relationship and how she pronounced zine phonetically with a long i and it took me 3 months before I haltingly told her she was saying it wrong).  I spent three hours reading about one person's crippling anxiety, another's hopefully nihilistic examination of death, ruminations on friendships lost and gained, and one about a woman's time as a TFA teacher in Philadelphia that took my breath away with its brutal honesty.  And yes, I did start thinking about my own imaginary zine and what it would be about and how I would make it visually appealing and how I could send it to these other zinesters and how they would read it and offer feedback and possibly, possibly, I would feel validated and less lonely.

I don't think loneliness will actually kill me, but I can see how it will infect my life in such a way that it will be the fatal symptom that I ignore for years until I am dead.  I am lonely almost all the time, and I know - I fucking well know - that this causes me to seek external validation in a way that is almost desperate in its yearning.  The main difference between me now and me then (pick a then, any then will do), is that I can accept this and not judge myself for it.  Now.  So right now I need people to tell me I'm pretty and worthy and deserving of good things and love.  I am, obviously, not alone in this.  Where those brilliant, courageous zinesters I met yesterday and I differ is that their outpourings of "Tell me I'm pretty" are packaged in neat little books with drawings and quotes and crooked pages.

I have chosen to type my words out on a screen and post them here (and previously: blogspot, wordpress, my-fucking-space, various online forums, and so-on dating back to 2001).  It's not a cute little handmade book that anyone can keep forever (or recycle the next day).  But the sentiment is the same.  Here I am, here are the inner workings of my psyche, here is how I've changed and grown over the past 6 years, here are my losses and gains and how I feel about them.  Here.

Like zinesters, I have made and lost connections, gained friends I treasure, and found some other great writers, whose inner lives I find as fascinating as those printed on paper between two covers.  I have lived vicariously through them and you, and learned a little about how it is to be someone-who-is-not-me.

I may still do a paper zine.  I actually put a silly little one together for the NOLA Queer Book Club Collective table and it felt amazing to create something with my hands and see a finished product.  But if I don't, I think it's time to let go of recrimination and self-doubt.  Without realizing it, I had already created a space for myself, and cultivated it through the years so that it reflects my own personal corner of the universe.  I see this and am pleased.

For those of you who worry that your blogs and such are sad, desperate pleas for attention.  So what? Writers from Pepys to Proust to Woolf to Hunter S. Thompson have been putting their personal crap out there for other people to read for centuries.  Yes, we want attention. So fucking what? We've been trained since birth to equate attention with love and value, so what better way to help ourselves through difficult times, or seek out others to celebrate great times, than to jump into a space where you know there will be people who care about you, even if it's just one part of you.  Do it.  Say So fucking what? to yourself and write out your anxieties and hopes and lost loves and plans for the weekend.  The only person really judging you for doing it is you.

Now tell me I'm pretty.

I think I'm grumpier online than I am in real life. I wonder sometimes if attempting to connect with people through social media makes me grumpier, or if I put out grumpier vibes online because it's more acceptable. If you were to ever meet me IRL, you would find I am generally a happy, confident person who gives the tiniest amount of shit over what others think of me.

I know people who work very hard to be cheerier online than they actually feel. Friends who are tireless cheerleaders of others, but who are also suffering from depression and the negative self-image that accompanies it. I always tell them, "You don't ever have to be something you're not around me. I like you just the way you are." I mean it, too. I don't want my friends feeling as if they have to pretend in order to stay in my good graces, of whatever. I like them even when they're blue.

So do I allow freer expression of my melancholy online because I feel it's more acceptable? Or because it's the only way I know to express these feelings, which are a natural part of me? We all have sadness and anger and anxiety and other "bad" emotions. But I am, for the most part, a content person. This was not always the case. I spent years under the mantle of depression so intense it was accompanied by frequent bouts of suicidal ideation. I survived years of self-loathing and guilt and shame and addiction and isolation so intense I thought I was invisible.

I'm in a good place now. Because I've reached this place after years of darkness, I have become a hopeful, optimistic person who appreciates my positive attributes, can name them, and feels confidence in them. I don't anticipate leaving this place, though I do sometimes travel outside its confines. I am only human after all. I get lonely and sad in the wake of my divorce, and wonder if I will ever have emotional and physical intimacy again. I lose confidence in myself now that I am unemployed in a competitive job market. I want people to like me for me. I want them to know me. I fear they never will.

So I put more negativity out there. Not just because I can. Not just because I feel I have nowhere else to put it. Not simply because I have to or I feel I will go crazy with it. But also to let those I meet online know that I am human too. I have doubts and insecurities in spite of an indelible confidence. I have self-esteem issues that still make me want to hide. I get so lonely lonely lonely sometimes I can't breathe.

As Whitman said, "I am large, I contain multitudes." They are all the truth, and truth is subjective. I'm in a good place now. A settled, sometimes joyful place. But I am also human and it's okay to forget where that good place is sometimes.

Turned in my final paperwork today. Given that I'm fairly certain I dotted all my i's and crossed all my t's, I am officially set to graduate next Thursday.

I am incredibly... tired. Perhaps it'll feel more real once the degree is in my hand?

The Holmestice is doing well.  My recipient loved it, and I'm glad of that.

I am in that place of exhaustion and stress release and uncertainty and I don't know that makes me mopey and weird. I just read a short fanfic that is part of a larger whole and the ending was all uncertain and possibly terrible, but we won't know until other parts post and I almost burst into tears.

Now I need some fluff. I need an unapologetically happy love story. Damn.

If you're going to introduce an OC that's going to become a huge fucking part of your relationship fic, fucking tag that shit.

Thank you,

Irritated Reader

Why do I have to make my stories so complicated? Why do there have to be these layers and things I'm trying to get across without being all obvious and shit? Why do I spend more time grappling with John "I'm not actually gay" Watson, and how I can work around that in a way that feels true to me, than I do worrying about whether or not anyone will even care about the plot I'm carefully constructing?

Why, after I research set-shifting, do I have to find a way to make it an important part of my story, and not just some background stuff I feel I need for Sherlock's character?

Why can't I be happy writing little domestic fics with (secretly needy) Sherlock being obtuse and imperious and John acting suspicious and sarcastic until they fall in a sweaty heap on the couch together?

Why? WHHYYYYYY?  COOOOOUUUUULLLLLSOOOOONNNNNN!

I'm tired. I've been tired for two weeks. But today, I am tired and sad. I just ended a lovely conversation with a new friend because I should be getting ready for bed because I've a long day of crisis counseling tomorrow, but I have to let this out.

( My only Isaac storyCollapse )

Pick a number and I'll answer in the comments.
Bolded ones are answered in the comments.

1 - Your current OTP(s)
2 - A pairing you initially didn’t consider but someone changed your mind.
3 - A pairing you're surprised you like so much because it's unusual for you.
4 - A pairing you wish you liked, but just can't
5 - Have you added anything stupid/cracky/hilarious to your fandom, if so, what.
6 - What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom.
7 - Do you remember your first OTP, if so who was in it.
8 - Do you prefer fictional characters or "real people"?
9 - What made you stop being in the last fandom you left?
10 - Name a fandom you didn’t care/think about until you saw it all over tumblr.
11 - How do you feel about the other people in your current fandom.
12 - Your favorite fanartist/author gives you one request, what do you ask for.
13 - Your favorite fanart or fanartist.
14 - Your favorite fanfiction or fan author
15 - Choose a song at random, which pairing does it remind you of?
16 - Invent a random AU for any fandom
17 - A ship you’ve abandoned and why.
18 - A pairing you wish more people wrote
19 - Show us an example of your personal headcanon.
20 - Do you remember what your first fanwork was?
21 - Self-rec: What is your favorite fanwork you've created?
22 - Are you one of those fans who can’t watch anything without shipping?
23 - Five favorite characters from five different fandoms
24 - 3 OTPs from 3 different fandoms.
25 - A fandom you’re in but have no ships from.
26 - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go!

Took a break from inhaling every Sherlock AU I can get my hands on that isn't a crossover, based on some made-up Alpha/Omega bullshit, or placed in another established universe (no, I do not want to read Hunger Sherlock from District 2, or whatever) to upload my Hot Fuzz fic to AO3.  Because I needed to do something productive, or something.

Big thanks to dr_tectonic for the invite!  Maybe one day new stuff will show up!  We're not...we're not talking about that right now, though.

I was looking though my fanfic archives and remember what a hot mess "The Good Knight-Errant" is on LJ and now I realize I should just get over my damn self and all my arguments against and archive my stories... somewhere.

Anyone got and AO3 invite?  No?  Damn.