114. Grounding

Dear London Fire Snake Scorpio,

Hello my snake, I hope the change of seasons treats you well and you keep warm. I am in a little bit of a mood today, so you will have to bare with me. The migraine is better then yesterday, but I am still groggy and very slow.

The cocktail of medications I am taking for my PCOS, SAD, ADHD, PTSD and neck arthritis consists of 3 meds. Three meds that actually clash with each other, but if we find the proper balance the hope is that in 3 months I will be a whole other human. Hopefully one that has less of this swing managed by weather and monthly cycles.

I am also very proud to report I have finished “Benedict”. A beautiful round 100,000 word manuscript was finished the day before yesterday.

Last week was rough, still. 9 weeks after surgery, I was not capable of doing much, I ordered twice during the week, watching with horror as my funds go and dwindle and I can absolutely nothing about it.

I am getting better, of course, but its a conscious effort to celebrate the small wins when you feel that instead of being 5% capable you are 7% capable, isn’t it? Week 7 after surgery I only took the kids for 8 days, but day 6 I was screaming my head off and checked out. Week 9 – I took them for 10 days and checked out on day 8. So yeah, progress, right?

This week, after the kids were at his house for 4 days and I went completely berserk and wrote 7,000 words per day, I met Monday with renewed vigor. Even as the migraine from taking too many stimulants – between my PTSD and SAD treatment and the Vyvanse for ADHD – was crushing, I finished the book Monday morning.

I then was able to change the locks to the house on both front and back door to one with a keypad. This was a major dopamine rush, really. I was not even able to walk the kids to and from school last week so being able to actually fiddle with screws and bolts made me feel positively drunk with power.

I love the fact that I have changed the locks. First, even though I gave my ex one of the codes to the back door, I actually love the fact that he does not have the keys anymore. It’s about damn time. I divorced him, he should not have a damn key to MY home.

Secondly, as Stallion got into 7 grade, he will be coming home from school on his own, as does Drago – and they keep forgetting their keys or losing it. So, having a simple code is a better idea. So far, two days after, it works great. Finally, the door locks automatically, so I am not worried about forgetting to lock. And honestly, we used to leave the back door not locked all the time when I would take the kids to school.

I know, I know. It’s not a smart thing to do. Even living in this quiet neighbourhood in this amazing city, I still should not have. But we got spoiled with the feeling of safety I suppose, so we did. Daily. It’s just that kind of a place. And you can stop scoffing now, I just told you I changed the locks, didn’t I? So no more of that.

The locks finished before even 11 am were intoxicating to my brain. Felling capable is where my brain lives I suppose. Later, I went to the doctor, had a mature conversation with her about my treatment and she signed my disability papers. Just like that.

I was a little surprised how smooth everything went. Having a mature conversation with doctors is a very hard fit for me. Besides the regular time constraint, doctors trying to finish your sentences for you and generally not listening, I was abandoned to deal with doctors on my own when I was only 12 or 13. And so it often feels like I am clamping when it comes to docs.

But I did it.

The doctor’s office sits in front of a large grocery chain so I even went in and bought some groceries, and carried them home. Heavy bags. I felt very powerful. Of course, as soon as I got home I completely collapsed into the bed and was a mush the rest of the day. But I was still cohesive and strong enough to master supper. Even a salad, lol.

I came home that day, went to bring the kids from school without wearing a double bra (that helped with the shock absorption of walking for a few days) and still felt moderately ok. Huge wins.

I have good intentions, you know? So yesterday I told myself I will sit and do little and write to you. But somehow the lack of sleep caused by the meds, the feeling of my brain being a sponge too full with water – to the point it is pressing from the inside out on the bones – got me hyper-fixating in a bad chokehold.

Between the high of the achievement of actually finishing a book for the first time in my life, and the sobering reality of how low the chance of me ever being published – my mood plummeted. I wanted to rush, to edit for a week and start sending the draft to agents.

But I have been living with ADHD for many years now and I am well aware when my minds is circling in a hamster wheel with a manic “Now! Now! Now!” scream. And my readers deserve more. Benedict and Elizabeth deserve more. So, once I will extract all the information from the book, and transfer all the bleeding scenes (This is how I call scenes that start in one book but appear in another too) I will start writing the next book. Probably Mac. It’s a good story.

Once Mac will be written I will start editing Benedict, and that will take a good month too. So, I suppose I am saying that I will only start querying for agents in about 2 months.

The other option, the more logical one, and the one that yesterday seemed uncomprehendable for me: is to wait for 2 weeks, completely away from writing and then edit “Benedict”. It will shave almost 6 weeks off the first approach for agents but it will do 2 things I am not keen on:

1. Writing more means getting better. Writing another book before I start editing my flagship sounds like a good idea. Especially if I continue listening to good audiobooks in the meantime to keep my mind on track with what sounds good. It primes the brain.
2. The more time I have to detach from the book is better for the editing process on one hand, but I got a little addicted to writing scenes. The momentum is rolling and halting it, knowing that my ADHD will make it a nightmare to restart is a worse waist of time then to wait 6 more weeks for first submission, isn’t it?

I am deflated, I won’t lie. I know mentally that the heavy feeling of reaching the goal you aimed at and understanding that now you need to climb higher and, honestly, the next hill seems steeper and more impossible then before is a known thing, of course. But I shrink. Maybe the book is not good enough? Maybe no one will pick it up? Maybe it’s all for nothing?

Sigh.

I know. Positive thinking. But today I feel deflated. And that’s ok. I am still here, still writing to you and restarting my routine. I am getting there, right? It’s just hard to stay positive when I know that Stallion, my dear lovely boy, has had his room in my ex’s house confiscated (the ex’s wife’s sister apparently crushing there) and he told me when him and his dad have fights, the fucked up 43 year old man is calling my boy a pussy. Yeah, you heard right.

I want to be strong enough to take them all the time. But I am no where near. No where near.

Yesterday was also a very productive day considering everything. I made supper, I fixed the front yard gate, I even logged the electric and water meters into the system and I have not done that in ages. I sat for more then 2 hours in front of my PC and synced all 3 school calendars with my ex’s travel calendar and the kids health calendars all the way to January. It was really a fit. I even renewed the kids injuries insurance. Seriously proud of me.

And today I feel like doing absolutely nothing but I do still have a list. And that’s ok. I will feel more capable tomorrow. I will get 1% better still and that’s all you need to keep climbing the next hill, and the next one. I finished a book. After writing for 30 years I have actually planned, executed and wrote 100,000 words book. And it’s a good book. Even in this first draft stage I can tell you that it is 100k% better written then 99% of the smut garbage out there. I did good. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.

I love you, thank you for holding a space for me to say all this. I am not sure how the next weeks will look like in regarding to our letters. I have changed. A lot. Major surgeries tend to that to a person, don’t they? All I can hope is that you will still love me with this new growth too.

Hopeful and tender, yours,
Oxy,
September 23, 2026.

Help me find him: Have you seen this man?