I’m back to writing. Thanks for waiting on me.
Emotive Warning: This is a series of journal snippets that I’ve written over a week of rollercoaster like twists and turns. I tried to turn it into something more readable, but it still feels a bit messy but helpful for me. I hope it resonates with at least one person.
Snippet #1: July 8, 2025
Hi. Today, I feel like I’m flexing a new muscle or, at least, one that I haven’t been utilizing. It has been almost two weeks since the nails I need to cut click clacked on the keys, but I think I’m already sore. Curiously, I have been writing with pen on paper. It suits my current predicament of being sequestered to our new LazyBoy recliner.
I sit, think, sleep, eat, and avoid writing in this very chair. I’m impressed that I’ve been able to do anything at all. I’m not saying it’s not comfortable, because it truly is, but my entire body would like to be in my bed part of the time. If you don’t know, I live in a townhouse, bedrooms upstairs. That’s 14 steps between me and a king size bed that has a remote for getting the ultimate comfort, but my knee replacement surgery recovery hasn’t covered more than one step up or down. The nerves haven’t fully recovered and I’m behind the curve muscularly.
This is torture. If not torture specifically, it is on the torturing spectrum and I’m not a willing participant anymore. I’m over it, above it, and under it. I blame the pre-op class for making me feel the you-can-do-it vibe. The recovery was and has not been what was on the tin. I was sold a different story. Thus my disappearance from this platform. My apologies, sincerely.
I forgot the most important part of this journey, the journey part. I assumed you didn’t need to know this part, but I realized that life is a little ugly sometimes. Not just for me, but for everyone. Not sharing this, denies the purpose and my own reality. I’m trying to learn something from this experience, because knee replacement surgery (KRS) was not on the bingo card. It has sat looming for decades, like a vulture waiting to swoop down and pick apart my decrepit knee. Eww…the visual I’m getting isn’t pretty, but neither are the abundance of scars I’ll wear on my knee for the rest of my life. That is too real, a realness if you will. Yes, I’ve just distracted myself with the RuPaul song that bears that monicker. We should watch the show together if you understood that. RPDR in all it’s iterations draws my interest.
Scattering like the wind, my brain cells are working against me. Pain is a rotted see-you-next-Tuesday. Deep breath. Sorry, this feels selfish. I want to wallow and get the most out of this writing session, but I need to recover. Today was Day 13 of recovery. My knee doth protest loudly. She’s swollen, stiff, and choosing to be difficult in the bending department. I suppose that I’ll need to name it, so I might fuss and cuss at it properly. Nancy…from this moment forward I knight thee Nancy, bringer of pain and general uncomfortableness.
So, Nancy isn’t bending much. She’s at 41 degrees, which is 6 degrees more than last week. Progress, yes, but not going as expected. The intensity of the pain keeps me in tears and weepy, as I’m unable to focus on anything for long. To counteract this, I chose to search the digital shelves for a self care book. I’m reading We Need Your Art: Stop Messing Around and Make Something by Amie McNee. I thought, why not trust people who’ve found a way out of a difficult situation. This is incredibly important to see when you’re stuck in a recliner with only doctor’s appointments and therapy to look forward to.
Before you think it, yes, I’m aware that some of this is self flagellation. While doctors try to piece me back together, I try to dissect my brain without an anesthetic. Scrub in, if you dare. This is where it gets fun. It’s a weird case of delusional optimism.
I realize that I didn’t mention much about the book and that’s because I’m 9% of the way through it, page 16. The pause comes from the journal prompt side quest with big sharp teeth that will undoubtedly gnash my bones if I don’t finish it. It’s picking at the scabbed over truths I’ve been messing with for some time and as I battle with my luck Sharpie S-Gel in my hand, I realize that I’ve forgotten my shield. I know. A good offense could win, but chances are, I’ll take some hits on the chin…
Snippet #2: July 9, 2025
I abandoned the click-clacking last time, but today I’m looking back at the book from Amie McNee. The book’s journal prompts have inspired some deep introspection and I think a turning point in my writing here in my journal, at least. The first prompt was: What were you taught about creativity and the arts as you were growing up? There were more parts, but I don’t want to give it all away. The author worked hard on this book.
Back to the question, I found myself examining my parents, grandparents, and other parental figures in my life. Three pages of writing front and back, I stand before you…well sit, but I do so different than I began. My tears were heavy, like Alice in that tiny hallway of doors and curiosity. The TL;DR is that creativity has always been a big part of my life whether I wanted it there or not. From childhood with a surreal artist mother and a father who hid his art in a brown leather satchel to years of denying any ability for the sake of the hustle for financial security while feeling emptied out by hollow people and dashed dreams. Deep breath… There I stood at the precise of true change, arms slowly lifting from my pockets while I remembered trying to accept this need, possibly at the wrong times.
Here I’ll admit that in secret I’ve toiled away at fanfic and even more random stories that I was ready for at the time. I’ve dabbled in painting murals and drawing people’s dead relatives for money. Never would I admit this despite connecting with others online about it. I walked away from those friendships like they didn’t matter for the purpose of saving face and giving more hours to dedicate to working for money. Life has always been an uphill battle and I’m overweight and have asthma. I was once more agile but I’m afraid that only made it easier for me to walk away from the art and any creativity.
I’m not saying that creativity wasn’t part of my hustle because I definitely utilized the skills to some degree when it served my money mission. I’m admitting to denying myself the opportunities which resulted in a gigantic weight in my chest and a nagging feeling that everything I was doing was wrong somehow. It seemed like I was never satiated and always hungry. Its like I’m back on the kooky grapefruit diet again. This time I substituted self hatred and doubt instead of meals and it burned my throat. Truth is, I’m a pretty good artist, writer, painter, and creative individual.
Now, I sit in the LWS Writing Hour contemplating my next steps…
Snippet #3: July 10, 2025
I started writing a book that nagged me to frustration at the beginning of this year. It begged to take shape, but the shape is lumpy and half formed, but I feel good about some things. My characters are interesting and I want to see them live on the page. I’ve got a villainous character that turns out to be almost redeemable, but I haven’t seen that through yet. I want to see how I can weave them into the story without losing these qualities. As with most endings, I’m not yet qualified to say mine will be solid. It’s ambiguous at best…
Snippet #4: July 11, 2025
My art, that’s still a touchy subject. I arted yesterday and the day before but I’m feeling shy and reluctant to share it. I hope journaling will help that. Plus, I have therapy scheduled. That might give me some fuel for the next vexium. What’s a vexium, you say? Well…
Vexium (noun)
An artistic substance forged under pressure; the rare element extracted from anxiety, tension, and overthinking — crystallized into intricate, structured forms.
The visual language of a mind processing stress through symmetry, repetition, and digital precision. At once meditative and restless
Origin: From Latin vexare, meaning “to agitate, to shake” + modern suffix -ium, denoting raw material or elemental force.
Usage: Each piece in the series is pure vexium – equal parts chaos and calm.
Snippet #5: July 12, 2025
I later distracted myself with making it an actual periodic element to avoid any messy emotional journaling. Proving I will forever be a work in progress.
Vexium [Vx]
Atomic #127
Atomic Mass: ~315.42u (highly unstable, varies with emotional input)
Classification: Reactive Psychoelement
Phase at STP: Amorphous Solid (but appears fluid under creative pressure)
Color: Iridescent graphite, fractal shimmer under light
Density: Variable; compresses under stress, expands during release
Melting Point: 1273 degrees Celsius (approx. — ignites at lower temp under mental strain)
Boiling Point: Unknown (likely infinite)
Crystal Structure: Symmetrical tangles with fractal imperfections
Discover Date: Early 21st Century
Discovered by Dr. Harlo Malone, while using Amaziograph during a stress spiral
Snippet # July 13, 2025
Moving forward, this newsletter will include the occasional or frequent vexium. I can’t say I’ll draw every day, but I can give you vague promises of them as I face life head first or is that kicking and screaming in the dark with sharp-toothed monsters at every turn. Possibly the same thing. Okay, breathe…I’m having a panic attack. I’m using this to calm myself down and it’s not working. I’ll try to do the 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 method that my wife walks me through.
5 things around me
Table with all my stuff to survive the day
Walker to keep my walking upright
Cat scratch sofa to save my real furniture
Coffee cup, always need a full one
My wife, working from home at our kitchen table
4 things I can touch
Ice pack on my knee
Soft fuzzy blanket on my chair
Sketchbook nearby
Blue sofa
3 things I can hear
Static in my headphones
HVAC kicking on
Wife typing
2 things I can smell
Coffee
Incense burning
1 thing I can taste
Coffee breath
This sorta worked, but I’ll add a few sour patch kids. Tasting sour patch kids or something just as sour like a warhead or a multitude of others can help redirect your brain. It stands as a grounding technique. Sometimes a couple are enough on their own but the 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 Method in addition often seals the deal I make with myself to finally breathe. I’m curious to know what works for others.
Today: July 14, 2025
Concluding, I realize how much of an uphill climb this information could be, so I want to thank you for making it this far. I, like many, am a complicated person with seemingly complicated issues that I’m constantly complicating. I believe in not giving up, but only with the help of my support system. I need them and I want to believe that they need me too. For me, the leader of this group is my wife.
She holds the majority share in positivity and hopefuls. I hope you allow someone like this into your life. I’m lucky and I realize that you have to accept people for all that they are. I nearly ran away from her because she presented me with love and acceptance so quickly. It was a shock that left me cowering and sadly angry.
My default emotion is anger, but as I hope you’ll see, I’m working on that. I own the mental illness I’ve been given, despite it’s ugliness. A diagnosis of schizoaffective bipolar disorder, ADHD, and PTSD is simply a label my doctor and pharmacy need to process my file and it’s bursting at the seams with more labels. That’s another piece of work and another conversation.
I am lucky. I am lucky to have my wife and lucky to have this opportunity to talk to others going through life with their own list of labels. I like to imagine that someone has a label maker and every time you get a new diagnosis or label worthy monicker you get a new label plastered to your body. They’re in various fonts and some look a little more worn than the others.
So, yeah…life is a little ugly.
Harlo
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