Tag: depression

I read a book: Motherthing, by Ainslie Hogarth

Posted on by Traumadoll

I knew almost immediately that I was going to like this book. I enjoyed it immensely. As usual, I judged this book by the cover before hitting that request button on NetGalley. I mean who wouldn’t be drawn in by that cover? It’s grayscale on Kindle, of course, but the physical cover is boldly colored and resembles a comic book.

Because I hadn’t finished reading this book before the publishing date, I picked up the audiobook during the last Audible sale and read along with it. Top notch performance from narrator Adina Verson.

Content warning: suicide, depression, mental illness. Probably others, but those are the big ones.

I have heard of the dreaded monster-in-law, but having never been married (and not met many past partners’ mothers), I have not had the (dis)pleasure of experiencing one. This book takes that concept and expands it beyond the grave. That said, this is not a horror book as I expected. This is more a psychological horror, the monsters being grief, depression, and trauma. The story follows the lives of Ralph and Abby Lamb, who move in with Ralph’s mother to care for her just before she commits suicide. Naturally Ralph is consumed by grief and falls into a deep depression, all the while insisting that his mother is still alive and in the house. There are some disturbing scenes, plenty of weirdness, and lots of laugh out loud moments. But that may just be my dark sense of humor.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ for me. This was my first Ainslie Hogarth book, but it won’t be my last. I love her writing style. It’s easy to read, flows well, and I love the dialog. The book is full of these little conversations between the main character and her husband and they’re just delightful. Then again, I tend to read more extreme horror and my sense of humor is a little warped, so the idea of a conversation about brown eyes resembling pools of diarrhea seems natural and fun.

Big thanks to Ainslie Hogarth, Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, and NetGalley for providing an ARC in exchange for an honest review. You can buy Motherthing, by Ainslie Hogarth on Amazon or any major bookseller.

I read a book: When the Dark Spoke to Me, by Christabelle Marbun

Posted on by Traumadoll

I went into this book completely unaware of the background of this author. She’s young. In fact, she is a well established child actor in Indonesia. And at 18 years old, this isn’t even her first published collection of poetry. Here I am pushing 40 struggling to keep up with my review schedule and this person has a couple books and over 100 movies under her belt. So says the blurb on her newest book’s Amazon page, though a quick google search does not confirm that claim. Still, even one movie and a pile of poetry is an accomplishment for anyone. Good for her!

When the Dark Spoke to Me begins with a trigger warning. This book contains themes of Death and suicidal ideation, reader discretion advised. As a person who often thinks about death and suicide, this was appreciated. Sometimes you just don’t want to deal with those themes and that’s okay.

Sometimes though, I’m feeling numb and want to feel something, so I read stuff that may break my heart. Sometimes I want that.

Unfortunately this is not what I was hoping. I read reviews that said it reads like it was written by someone wise behind their years, but I’m not seeing it. It reads very much like it was written by a teenager, because it was. Reading this reminded me of reading my old Livejournal posts. Cringe city. There’s a whole section addressed to Death, referring to Death as her first love that reminds me of being a teenager and exploring darker themes while learning to cope with depression.

There are also glimmers of…something. She is asking questions and writing her way to the answers she seeks. There’s one called The Gifted Kid Burnout that sets the stage for the rest of the collection. You can tell she is trying so hard not to burn out while processing her trauma at the same time.

⭐️⭐️⭐️ for me. It’s not bad. I think younger readers in the same stage of their lives as the author would find this collection more relatable.

Big thanks to Christabelle Marbun, Andrews McMeel Publishing, and NetGalley for providing an ARC in exchange for an honest review. You can buy When the Dark Spoke to Me, by Christabelle Marbun on Amazon in multiple formats beginning October 11.

Compartment C – Depression and insomnia

Posted on by Traumadoll

It’s the middle of the night and I find myself getting upset over something stupid. Tears level of upset. Sad. Dejected.

Rejected.

But it’s in my head. Nothing happened to make me feel that way. It’s not logical. It makes no sense. And yet…

And yet the tears fall like rain, the sound drowned out by the thunderstorm that shakes my walls. But like the lightning that accompanies the thunder, the feeling is gone with a flash of light in the dark.

Sleep does not come easy. Again. Ever.

Compartment B – Feeling and not feeling

Posted on by Traumadoll
Do you like me?
Well I hope you do
Cause if you like me
Then I think I’m gonna to have to like you too

I’ve never been a particularly romantic person. I don’t watch chick flicks. I don’t read chick lit. Typical non-smutty romance novels can be entertaining, but I’m not getting warm fuzzies from them.

I get my warm fuzzies and emo tears from so many Futurama episodes. From that one episode of My Name is Earl when Earl figures out that Joy and Randy are each others’ first loves. From books about aliens who like to eat pussy and dote on their human lovers. From hair bands. From poems about Mountain Dew commercials. Memes. Pictures of Fry and Leela couples tattoos.

I don’t know if there is a point to this post. I have been in a mood for a while now. Feeling things, not feeling things. Writing, editing, deleting. Crying. I don’t know how to deal with myself other than writing, editing, and deleting. And leaving some of my compartments safely tucked away in my drafts folder so no one else has to deal with me either.

Daily Prompt

Posted on by Traumadoll

There are many things I could do more of (but probably won’t). I could get more exercise. I could vacuum more often. I could get out of the house more. I could be more efficient at my job. I could read more, I could write more. I could be more.

There are many things I could do more of.

But the first thing that came to mind was that I could reach out to the people I care about more. I could open up. I could talk about my feelings. I could try harder to connect. I could learn to be a person.

I picked up a new book of poetry by Courtney Peppernell and Zack Grey called The Space Between Us today and the very first page I flipped to reminded me of another thing I could do more of (but probably won’t). It’s barely a poem, more a whisper of a feeling. But it hooked me. And now after reading more of the book I’m thinking of things I could do (but probably won’t).

Five Years

Posted on by Traumadoll

Yeah, it’s over now
But I can breathe somehow

I spent my morning listening to The Girl on the Train on audiobook. I had to take a break because a passage brought up memories and I just need to get them out.

Eight years ago, I met a guy in a game. We bonded over shared interests. Horror movies. Metal. A dark sense of humor. He liked to talk and I liked to listen. Our friendship grew into something more, and five years ago I met him in person. Five years ago, I ended it.

I wish I could say it ended over something simple but ultimately harmless, like maybe he’d misrepresented himself. Truth is, he was exactly what he said he was except that everything he’d said was presented as humor. He was intense and volatile. Things that seemed like temper tantrums from a distance seemed dangerous in person. He frightened me. He was only in town for two days and I’d only spent a few hours with him, but it was enough. 11 out of 15 warning signs. I did some things I didn’t want to do, and then I made sure he got to the airport and back home before breaking up with him.

He wanted to maintain a friendship when it was over. I did not, but I also didn’t want to give him a reason to find a way to hurt me. He’d spent much of our relationship talking shit about his crazy exes. I remember when he was feeling particularly paranoid, he would threaten one woman via text and blame her for making him that way. So I agreed, and we’d spend evenings talking on Skype. He’d tell me about the prostitute he fucked when he got home. He’d tell me about the haggard old slut who flirted with him (she was his age and seemed like a lovely person). He blamed one woman for his jealousy issues. He blamed his mother for his existence. He blamed me for his erectile dysfunction during his visit. Conversation would inevitably devolve into me listening to him cry and asking me why women keep fucking him over.

He actually believed he was good to me.

I wrote a short note about the breakup on my old blog after I’d ended the attempt at friendship. An Alice in Chains song, a few lyrics, and a declaration that it was over and I was okay somehow. No details. He left a nasty accusatory comment and blew up my phone with texts and phone calls, just as he’d done when I left his hotel the first day and when he got home and when I broke up with him. The difference was that I was no longer responding. I was done.

I did learn from this experience. It is possible to feel trapped by someone you’ve never even touched. It is possible for someone who lives across the country to completely isolate you from friends and family. I wasn’t a bad person. I didn’t lead him on. His malfunction is not my fault.

Most importantly, it is possible to heal and get on with life. I think I’ll continue my book now.