About Brian B Baker

I write horror stories, talk about depression, and how I through all of it.

What’s going on?

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I’ve dealt with my stomach issues over the last few months, but that’s not what this post is about.

After I had my initial visit with my doctor, I asked to be put on anti-depressant/anxiety medication. If you’ve read this blog for a while you understand my reasons for that; now I’ve run into a problem.

I started taking the medicine in November and I haven’t written a word since. I don’t feel like writing, reading, or watching anything with my wife. A malaise settled in over my life. One that I’m not comfortable with. Writing and books are where I get the most enjoyment. They’ve always been my safe space. Not writing feels worse than depression.

I’m not cured of depression. That doesn’t happen. I understand that the medicine takes away the depression and the lows in causes. It’s also taking away my desire to work. I get to my desk every morning and stare at a blank screen. I may write something but I delete it later because I’m not interested in what I’ve put down.

I usually start exercising to help with my depression issues. I don’t want to do that either.

I’m going off the medication to see if that fixes this. I can’t live without writing. It’s causing me more mental issues than it’s solving.

I had wanted to publish this year. I don’t desire that either. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t posted here.

Anyway, I’ll let you know how it goes.

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Getting better…

I’ve fought with my stomach, my mind, and my temper over the last week. I’m winning the battles, but the war continues.

I started writing a new story today. I don’t know where it came from, as I often never do, but it’s words, and I’m grateful for them. I’ve barely written since my time in the hospital and while I’m working to get better I’m also struggling to maintain my writing.

I took a hit to my mind, my body, and a bit of fear crept in. I’ve never spent time in the hospital. It was a new experience for me and I didn’t much care for it. I’ve always been relatively healthy and spending 48 hours in the hospital, mostly alone, did some damage. You can only watch so much bullshit TV without wanting to pluck your eyes from you school. I’m just glad they gave my plastic spoons for my meals.

Writing post-hospital is difficult. I’m on some new medication for depression and anxiety. It’s something I’ve needed to do for a while, but held off. I reached a point of needing that help while in the hospital. It wasn’t an epiphany, but a realization of sorts.

I’ve struggled with depression most of life and getting better is part of our journey as humans. I have to get better for me. That started with taking something for my anxiety and depression. I’m moving onto the next part, stay with me.

Writing horror is challenging for me. I grew up watching horror. I read a little bit growing up, but I mostly read Tom Clancy style thrillers. Which is why my most recent novel is a thriller in that vein.

Horror feels difficult to me. Maybe it’s because I watched more than I read growing up. I’ve worked to fix that as I grew older. I’m working on a few projects and I’ll put them up in the next couple of months.

I hope you’ll follow along as I make my way and get better.

Boy, do I have a story for you all

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I’ve dealt with stomach issues for the last year. It was preceded by a colonoscopy.

I didn’t think anything of it. I started having back issues a few months later. I didn’t think anything of it and went to a chiropractor. I dealt with severe migraines while working in Las Vegas, and adjustments helped.

I’ve gone to my chiropractor since March, but over the last month or so, I wondered if the back issues were something else. My back pain was consistent, and the chiropractor didn’t alleviate it. It did help with my neck issues, however.

Last week something was different. My stomach issues stayed throughout the day. By Friday night, it hurt, but I went to work at my new job bartending at a local bar.

Throughout the night, I’d get bits of warmth, moments where I’d have to stop and take a few minutes to catch my breath. When I finished that night, I was ready for bed.

I got home, almost falling into bed, and my stomach killed me.

Saturday morning was a whole other ballgame. I felt like I’d been punched. Every movement hurt. I was supposed to bartend a Halloween party that night, but I called off. I told my boss I was headed for the doctor as my stomach hurt too bad to move.

Once at the clinic, I was told it may be my appendix, and I should go to the emergency room. My wife drove me to the emergency room. It was a visit I didn’t want as I believed my appendix would burst.

I received a CT scan around 11:30. A hour later, I was in room told I had possible sepsis. If you don’t know, I linked to the Mayo Clinic’s definition and details. Needless to say, my wife and I were freaking out a bit. They admitted me to the hospital and started me on antibiotics.

Over the next 48 hours, my pain subsided, but my anxiety skyrocketed. I’d just been told something was in my body that could kill me.

I’ve never been sick enough for the hospital. At 46, it’s something I was proud of.

My diagnosis was diverticulitis. I linked again to the Mayo Clinic as their explanation is better than my own.

By Monday, Halloween, I felt better. My white cells returned to normal. My blood work no longer worried my doctor. They released me. Since Monday, I’ve eaten a low-fiber diet. I still have a bit of uncomfortableness in my stomach, but not the pain I dealt with Saturday.

I learned from this. Never believe your back pain is from your spine. Always get it checked for other things before going to a chiropractor. I will have diverticulitis forever and will watch for flare-ups.

All of this happened the week before my book launch. I know bills will roll in as I live in the States, so please buy my book. It will help my wife and I when these bills do come in.

I wanted to start NaNo this month, but that’s on hold as I navigate this.

The Fear Of Pushing Too Hard

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I have this fear. It rouses its ugly head every so often. I’m working on whatever project, then I think about how much harder I could be working on my writing, on my life, and other things.

This fear becomes complicit in my not pushing my projects when they come out. On not trying hard enough to edit. Each and every one of them deserves my attention, but then there’s this fear.

It tells me that if I work too hard, I’ll alienate those I care about. That they’ll not like me as much. That I’ll break those relationships. I’ve dealt with abandonment issues since childhood. It’s one of my overarching issues.

Within this fear is the worry that if I don’t work harder, what I write won’t go anywhere. I don’t care anymore if it makes money. I care someone gets something out of it. I don’t write for anyone but myself. Some people won’t care about you’re writing. Others will. I stopped worrying about those who won’t. I focus on those who will.

Writing Disunion By Force took me to a few places I hadn’t dared tread since my teenage years. I wrote this book for my teenage self. He read a lot of these kinds of books. Most of them to keep him sane, others to keep him from killing himself.

I found solace and a bit of peace writing this book. I’ve come a long way from the kid afraid of screwing up. He continues to pop up, but I’ve shoved him down a little. I know he’d enjoy this book. I know there were times he was done. Times when it was just him in an apartment reading, watching horror movies, and trying to keep his head above water.

I live through the fear of pushing too hard, but it comes out right. I write for us.

Complaining too much and my brain telling me things.

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Disunion by Force by Brian J. Stone

Everything I’ve written for the last couple of weeks is terrible. Whatever I picked up to read bored me and I’ve talked about it on social media.

Now, I try not to do this, but last week my brain told me off through a dream.

All the writers I interact with had an intervention. One said, “We’ve been watching you for a couple of years. I don’t know where you fell off, but you need to stop complaining and work.”

Needless to say, I thought of this dream for a couple of days. It resided in every waking moment. When I thought I got away from it, there it was, reeling me back in.

The funny thing is, I thought everything was fine. I didn’t see it. My subconscious did. It yelled at me in the dream, “You’ve been doing so good. You need to stop this complaining and work.”

Now, this is not a complaint to follow up on by the subconscious. It’s more of a story that I need to listen to that voice in my head that says to work.

I have a book out in a month, and I will promote the hell out of it for the next month and thereafter. What I will not do is complain about how hard this shit sometimes is. How hard I’m working. I want everyone to read Disunion By Force. I wrote it for me, so maybe it won’t reach the people I want it to, but I know someone will enjoy it.

They say you should write what you’d read and this is what my fourteen-year-old self would have read. It’s a book I think my biological father would like.