Beth Overmyer's Blog: The Blog of Beth Overmyer, page 35
May 10, 2015
To All the Moms, Aunts, She-Cousins...and Aw, Heck...TO ALL WOMEN
Have a blessed day and feel celebrated, whether you have kids or not!
May 8, 2015
Getting to Know...Me
A CHARACTER SHEET
Name: Beth Overmyer
So, I've been getting rather personal on the blog lately, haven't I? Perhaps I've made a few of you uncomfortable. I know I've been uncomfortable, but some things shouldn't be allowed to grow in the dark. Some things need to be yanked into the light. To be exposed...to, well, the light, to warmth, to growth.
Memoir Mondays will probably continue, but please realize that they're focusing on just one facet of me. We all are three-dimensional beings. I am not all darkness and gloom. OCD and depression may have once ruled my life--and, granted, they still hog a lot of it--but that is not all of me, you know?
This post isn't meant to be defensive, because no one has attacked me or hurt my feelings. I don't expect them to. In fact, it's been quite the opposite. I've seen some very kind support from a couple of people I only know through the web.
What this post is meant to be is a warning. If I'm dragging you down with Memoir Mondays, and I've read and commented on your blog, don't feel like you need to reciprocate on Monday posts. (Don't feel like I'm ever pressuring you to do anything you don't want to do.) I understand that some things make people uncomfortable, and I respect that. Please, please, PLEASE: if these posts disturb you, don't read.
If I cross a line, I'm sorry. I will try to be sensitive.
On a lighter note, I'm rereading/editing some of my MG project, and I must say this: I actually like it again! So huzzah!
Beth
May 4, 2015
Memoir Monday: Exhibit A
I believe that May is a mental health awareness month. In that spirit, I'm posting some poetry I wrote when OCD and depression started wreaking major havoc in my teens and early twenties. Questions are welcome.
#I was wandering the vast garden of my mindwhen a lowly wren perched upon the ledge of a wall.“Do,” it said.So I did.Again and again I passed the wall, counting the stonesin pairs of threes, no fours and especially no twos.Yet this was not enough.“Do!” said the bird, its feathers ruffled.So I did.I stepped backwards, counting in threes and fives,until I thought I would lose my mind.I counted, I fretted, and again spoke the wren, now transformed into a jay:“Do!”Conditioned to do, I did.I picked every weed from the crags and the nooks,and picked and picked until my fingers bled.Yet this was still not enough.“Do!” said the bird, now a raven with stony eyes.I scrubbed each stone in threes and fives,No fours and especially no twos,in threes and fives,no fours and especially no twos.Waiting for the next command, I looked up at the eagle,It’s eyes as black as the depths of its soul.“Do!” it shrieked.Weary I fell,fell to the ground,and pulled out a stone from the cragged wall and threw it at the bird,now a vulture, and missed.It laughed and it crowed until I bledand lay there dead, dead in the soul,
in the vast garden of my mind next to the ledge of a wall.
#
What in this abyssBut water to choke on And pardon—Reckless passions withinMy marrow that ChristHas pardonedYet dull and jadeMe in the same,Wrenching the veryLife from my youngBreast,Drawing life in surplusStrings,Leaving ice shards in My chest,Which heaves andSinks with burningHeatOf this intensityWhich holds myMind in chainsThat bind and strokeThe last pieceOf my sanity,Which He forgave, This wretched piece, This anguished creatureTrapped in the walls of herOwn brain:the rat on the wheel,the bird in the cage,the flame ’neath the jar,the free man in chains,the firmness in madness,the hopeful in hopelessAnd dullness that ebbsAnd the corrosion that buildsAnd destroys as sanityAnd madness crumbleTogether in the womb—And I cannot.Break, break, break the poet Said,Tarnished songs ring Through my head,Break, break, break,And broken here I dwell:My mind in conflictWithin its two-foldsAnd empty and full desires,For I am confusedAnd, though pardoned,I loose myselfWhen I try to demonstrateThe same:I am of a simile,And not whole to a metaphorIn tunnel view. Who knows?
#I was wandering the vast garden of my mindwhen a lowly wren perched upon the ledge of a wall.“Do,” it said.So I did.Again and again I passed the wall, counting the stonesin pairs of threes, no fours and especially no twos.Yet this was not enough.“Do!” said the bird, its feathers ruffled.So I did.I stepped backwards, counting in threes and fives,until I thought I would lose my mind.I counted, I fretted, and again spoke the wren, now transformed into a jay:“Do!”Conditioned to do, I did.I picked every weed from the crags and the nooks,and picked and picked until my fingers bled.Yet this was still not enough.“Do!” said the bird, now a raven with stony eyes.I scrubbed each stone in threes and fives,No fours and especially no twos,in threes and fives,no fours and especially no twos.Waiting for the next command, I looked up at the eagle,It’s eyes as black as the depths of its soul.“Do!” it shrieked.Weary I fell,fell to the ground,and pulled out a stone from the cragged wall and threw it at the bird,now a vulture, and missed.It laughed and it crowed until I bledand lay there dead, dead in the soul,
in the vast garden of my mind next to the ledge of a wall.
#
What in this abyssBut water to choke on And pardon—Reckless passions withinMy marrow that ChristHas pardonedYet dull and jadeMe in the same,Wrenching the veryLife from my youngBreast,Drawing life in surplusStrings,Leaving ice shards in My chest,Which heaves andSinks with burningHeatOf this intensityWhich holds myMind in chainsThat bind and strokeThe last pieceOf my sanity,Which He forgave, This wretched piece, This anguished creatureTrapped in the walls of herOwn brain:the rat on the wheel,the bird in the cage,the flame ’neath the jar,the free man in chains,the firmness in madness,the hopeful in hopelessAnd dullness that ebbsAnd the corrosion that buildsAnd destroys as sanityAnd madness crumbleTogether in the womb—And I cannot.Break, break, break the poet Said,Tarnished songs ring Through my head,Break, break, break,And broken here I dwell:My mind in conflictWithin its two-foldsAnd empty and full desires,For I am confusedAnd, though pardoned,I loose myselfWhen I try to demonstrateThe same:I am of a simile,And not whole to a metaphorIn tunnel view. Who knows?
May 1, 2015
Happy May Day!
A very happy May Day to you all (and a happy fifth anniversary to my sister and brother-in-law.) What are your plans to celebrate for this glorious day?
...
What? You have none? Tsk-tsk! Oh, you're going to see The Avengers: Age of Ultron? This I can totally approve of. No spoilers, please. I might not get to see it until next week :-/
I used to secretly deliver flowers to our neighbors when I was a tween. My friend Melanie, my sister, and I would make bouquets and then set out on a daring quest through open fields and cow pastures to deliver the floral gifts to the widow down the way and then a family of friends a good 1/3 mile away.
The only times in my life that I felt like Secret Agent Woman ;-) We'd duck behind buildings, crouch behind trees. Anyone passing by might've thought we were a bunch of hooligans up to no good. Good times.
April 29, 2015
Favorite Things: Recommendations
Here are some products I've tried recently that I've really enjoyed/thought well of:
1. Kaspersky Internet Security - I've been using Kaspersky for several years now. Haven't had to take the computer into the shop even once.
2. The Republic of Tea's Downton Abbey Tea, English Rose - You really can't taste much of the rose. It's more of a freshly-picked red raspberry taste. Very scrummy!
3. Canon PowerShot A220 - Disclaimer: the exposure time on this thing is TERRIBLE (really, you can only use it for still life because it take forever to snap the photograph.) However, the video cam part is surprisingly non-crappy for a a cheap-o camera.
4. The 100 (television series): Season One - I haven't finished the first season, but it is soooo interesting. See Amazon for a blurb, 'cause I'm too tired to write one right now.
5. Yogi Tea's Slim Life - It's a green tea with a mild blueberry flavor. Not only a good appetite suppressant, it's a wonderful energy booster!
__
Have YOU tried anything lately that you just can't keep to yourself?
1. Kaspersky Internet Security - I've been using Kaspersky for several years now. Haven't had to take the computer into the shop even once.
2. The Republic of Tea's Downton Abbey Tea, English Rose - You really can't taste much of the rose. It's more of a freshly-picked red raspberry taste. Very scrummy!
3. Canon PowerShot A220 - Disclaimer: the exposure time on this thing is TERRIBLE (really, you can only use it for still life because it take forever to snap the photograph.) However, the video cam part is surprisingly non-crappy for a a cheap-o camera.
4. The 100 (television series): Season One - I haven't finished the first season, but it is soooo interesting. See Amazon for a blurb, 'cause I'm too tired to write one right now.
5. Yogi Tea's Slim Life - It's a green tea with a mild blueberry flavor. Not only a good appetite suppressant, it's a wonderful energy booster!
__
Have YOU tried anything lately that you just can't keep to yourself?
April 27, 2015
Memoir Monday: I am the Frog
Workshop Players of Amherst, Ohio is a fair-sized, close-knit group of individuals of the theatrical leaning. Their theater-in-the-round seats maybe one-hundred people, and boasts many seasons of successful shows.
In the days where I could use a restroom other than my own—also known as the Porcelain Years—I was involved with this group.
O Scapino!, you will always be my favorite play from the era that followed. You were the last play. You were the play, the play that pushed me. Not only were strange toilets in use, other things forced me out of my OCD comfort bubble. I was touched, I was pinched—on the butt—and I was forced to endure a month of rehearsals with all the touching and butt-pinching, then a month of performances of the same. Oy vey.
But the Kiss! My first and last kiss came in 2005 during WSP’s production of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I was stage manager. No, stage managers are not to be kissed—we will kill you—so I was also assigned understudy for the role of Jeanne Poole. You know, the character who is kissed up, felt up, and ...
Goodie.
It were as if the casting directors didn’t know I was suffering from a severe disorder. Okay, they didn’t have a clue, and I wasn’t about to set the record straight.
Now, know this about me: I used to be known as the Anti-Hugger. I was the coat rack. You do not hug the coat rack. A: Hugging the coat rack is weird. B: Hugging the coat rack is uncomfortable. C: Hugging the coat rack can get you knocked down on your butt.
To a degree, I am now a relative of the coat rack: The parasol stand. A: Hugging the parasol stand is also weird. B: Hugging the parasol stand is uncomfortable as well. But… C: The parasol stand is smaller, so you are less likely to get knocked over, and I am less likely to also collapse in a fit of panic.
During Jekyll and Hyde, I was the coat rack. So imagine what I felt when I was told that Mr. Hyde was wearing a set of false teeth that made him drool excessively and everywhere.
Now imagine what I felt when the director told me I was to be kissed by this slimy, slobbery fool.
Now take yet another moment for imagining: The director tells me that this Hyde character with the slimy, slobbery lips and mouth was going to be licking me with his slimy, slobbery tongue.
I think I just threw up a little.
So, I lied. This is not the beginning. This is a snapshot of craziness from my past life.
Memoir Monday: Foreword
OCD and Me: A Comical Tragedy and Tragic ComedyAlso titled:Where Did I Put the Lysol?
Looking from a perspective on the other side of Normal, I am the Other Normal and I spy something red.
You ask me, Idea?
No.
Mineral?
Nope.
Vegetable?
I hope not.
Animal?
At times.
The answer, my friends, is none of the above. The red that I am seeing is multifaceted. It is my blood, my anger, my red. Why am I angry?
My name is Beth Overmyer, and I suffer from clinical depression and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder…and, to top all that all off, I am a recovering and relapsing cutter.
This is not a self-help post. I cannot help you. I cannot heal you. I cannot share my Lysol, because you might’ve touched something taboo before you came here.
And while it’s tempting to call this something other than a stuffy memoir, that’s what it is. So, why read this if I can’t help or heal you, especially when I’m suffering myself? Maybe you should close this window now.
If you are suffering or have suffered from OCD, these posts are most likely not for you, so pass the link on to your loved ones, because it’s really for them. It’s for the other side of our Normal. You and me, we’ll chill together sometime over a fat latte in our own world of Other Normal where we don’t talk about anything deeper than our fake lives. Leave the healing to others. It’s your family and friends that need to understand. So drop this post like the poison it is. I don’t want to give OCDers Ideas.
If you are a Cutter, maybe these posts are for you. Maybe they are just the right poison for you.
If you are depressed, these posts should be your poison of choice. I am you. You are me. And we are on both sides of Normal and Other Normal, because, let’s face it, we’re a majority.
Where does my tale begin? Where all good stories begin: With a kiss.
__Author's note: This is just a look at part of me. If you're offended, I'm sorry. I'll post the next entry right after this, so stay tuned for more of Memoir Monday
Looking from a perspective on the other side of Normal, I am the Other Normal and I spy something red.
You ask me, Idea?
No.
Mineral?
Nope.
Vegetable?
I hope not.
Animal?
At times.
The answer, my friends, is none of the above. The red that I am seeing is multifaceted. It is my blood, my anger, my red. Why am I angry?
My name is Beth Overmyer, and I suffer from clinical depression and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder…and, to top all that all off, I am a recovering and relapsing cutter.
This is not a self-help post. I cannot help you. I cannot heal you. I cannot share my Lysol, because you might’ve touched something taboo before you came here.
And while it’s tempting to call this something other than a stuffy memoir, that’s what it is. So, why read this if I can’t help or heal you, especially when I’m suffering myself? Maybe you should close this window now.
If you are suffering or have suffered from OCD, these posts are most likely not for you, so pass the link on to your loved ones, because it’s really for them. It’s for the other side of our Normal. You and me, we’ll chill together sometime over a fat latte in our own world of Other Normal where we don’t talk about anything deeper than our fake lives. Leave the healing to others. It’s your family and friends that need to understand. So drop this post like the poison it is. I don’t want to give OCDers Ideas.
If you are a Cutter, maybe these posts are for you. Maybe they are just the right poison for you.
If you are depressed, these posts should be your poison of choice. I am you. You are me. And we are on both sides of Normal and Other Normal, because, let’s face it, we’re a majority.
Where does my tale begin? Where all good stories begin: With a kiss.
__Author's note: This is just a look at part of me. If you're offended, I'm sorry. I'll post the next entry right after this, so stay tuned for more of Memoir Monday
April 24, 2015
IBUYWD!
Today I am declaring it International Back Up Your Work Day! Haven't saved that manuscript lately? Well, don't delay: act right away!
If you don't have a flash drive/stick/thingy: GET ONE. Or two. Or MORE!
Also, backing up with email is another good idea. I send my manuscripts in an attached Word document from my Gmail account to my Yahoo account. That way, I have the manuscript in my Yahoo inbox AND in my Gmail sent box.
Hard copy is another good idea.
There are also online sites like DropBox that people highly recommend. I tried it once, but couldn't figure it out.
The main point is this: Have your work backed up and in more than one place. I can tell horror stories of having only a Word document and a prayer. Yeeeoooooow!
If you don't have a flash drive/stick/thingy: GET ONE. Or two. Or MORE!
Also, backing up with email is another good idea. I send my manuscripts in an attached Word document from my Gmail account to my Yahoo account. That way, I have the manuscript in my Yahoo inbox AND in my Gmail sent box.
Hard copy is another good idea.
There are also online sites like DropBox that people highly recommend. I tried it once, but couldn't figure it out.
The main point is this: Have your work backed up and in more than one place. I can tell horror stories of having only a Word document and a prayer. Yeeeoooooow!
April 21, 2015
Books of 2015
So, these are the books I've read so far this year:
- Distortion by Chelsen Vicari
- Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson
- The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson
- Death by Darjeeling by Laura Childs
- Steelheart by Brandon Sanderson
- The ISIS Crisis by Charles Dyer
- Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus by Nabeel Qureshi
- Just Like Jesus by Max Lucado
I've started a bunch of other books that I still need to finish, but I think I want to read Shadow of the Unicorn by Suzanne de Montigny next. We'll see!
What are YOU reading? Anything I should add to my TBR pile?
- Distortion by Chelsen Vicari
- Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson
- The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson
- Death by Darjeeling by Laura Childs
- Steelheart by Brandon Sanderson
- The ISIS Crisis by Charles Dyer
- Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus by Nabeel Qureshi
- Just Like Jesus by Max Lucado
I've started a bunch of other books that I still need to finish, but I think I want to read Shadow of the Unicorn by Suzanne de Montigny next. We'll see!
What are YOU reading? Anything I should add to my TBR pile?
April 19, 2015
Ata Mayveen Engleet? or is Beth Talking to Herself?
Okay, so I'm learning Hebrew. Guess what I can say...
Have a hint?
Me to a woman: At mayveena Engleet?
Me to a man: Ata mayveen Engleet?
Give up?
"Oooh! Ooh! Teacher, teacher! ME! Pick ME!"
Yes, little Tommy.
"Shouldn't you be writing?"
...
"Like, really, shouldn't you be making up stories about mutants and all sorts of magically lyrical and fun things?"
Good question, Little Tommy. Let me answer by pulling the fire alarm...
"..."
This is not a drill. RUN.
"I don't think so, Beth..." er, Teacher-person.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've been reading a lot, writing a little, listening to music (and Hebrew--ata mayveen?). And it's all part of the process. As I grow as a human being, I grow as a writer.
*Tommy just stares at me*
*I stare back*
"..."
All right, all right. I'm back to writing.
Laterz!
Have a hint?
Me to a woman: At mayveena Engleet?
Me to a man: Ata mayveen Engleet?
Give up?
"Oooh! Ooh! Teacher, teacher! ME! Pick ME!"
Yes, little Tommy.
"Shouldn't you be writing?"
...
"Like, really, shouldn't you be making up stories about mutants and all sorts of magically lyrical and fun things?"
Good question, Little Tommy. Let me answer by pulling the fire alarm...
"..."
This is not a drill. RUN.
"I don't think so, Beth..." er, Teacher-person.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've been reading a lot, writing a little, listening to music (and Hebrew--ata mayveen?). And it's all part of the process. As I grow as a human being, I grow as a writer.
*Tommy just stares at me*
*I stare back*
"..."
All right, all right. I'm back to writing.
Laterz!
