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So, I've been gone for too long, and I'm offering refunds...
7 years ago
"MORELS taste good in omelettes..."
I'm offering refunds to everyone who paid for a commission they never got. I realize this journal will sound like whining to some folks, and I understand. I've already reached out to the people I owe stuff to, and I've gotten responses from most in return. Two refunds have already gone out.
Basically, what happened was this:
My health took a serious nose-dive, and I'm in pain nearly every day to the point where concentrating on work is nearly impossible. Some nights, I crawl into bed half-way in tears because of it. The list of problems is long, as is the pharmacy of drugs I have to take these days. I laugh whenever I have to fill out yet another fucking form that asks for a detailed listing of the medications I have to take and the amount of space given is too small. Doctor after doctor, specialists and therapists, tests after tests after yet more tests, even physical therapy. I have an appointment for a neurologist tomorrow to see what can be done about the constant migraines, and another with a different specialist to have a probe go up my back door. Just to add icing onto the cake, I'm going through fucking menopause. Well, at least pregnancy will no longer be a worry.
Then, there was the trial of the Step-Monster. The first trip up had me so wound up in knots, I was having daily panic-attacks, nightmares about the Step-Monster, and nearly got an ulcer (the doc said I skated on that one. Yay?), and I even got hives for the first time in my life, ever, on my fucking face. Lovely, dealing with some of the scariest shit in my life and I need to look good for court, and I get to have a disfigurement to add to the already overwhelming anxiety load. The final event came a year ago--the full trial--and it was back to the nightmares, panics, stomach pain and vomiting. Oh? I didn't mention the puking? Yeah, there was that, too. So, I head up to Winnipeg again (why can't I go up there for fun? We have a nice little sci-fi convention that's been around for thirty-five years), preparing for the trial and all the ugly questions I'll have to answer without crisping the defence-lawyer, and land... only to find out the fucking shit managed to die before facing me and what he'd done. Literally the night before his first testimony. The court was trying to get a hold of me that night and the next morning to tell me the trial had to be cancelled, but I was still in flight. FUCK. In fact, the first anniversary of his demise will be coming up in two weeks...
And I got to learn that paralysing guilt is really a thing. I froze--yes, for seven years--I couldn't work, I couldn't make reasonable, rational decisions, I felt sick whenever I thought about it. And I retreated and hid. I know some folks might think, "So just do it! Face your responsibilities, ya lazy dragoness! Fucking get off yer ass and work!" Easy to say, not so easy to do, it turned out. One of the joys of having multiple issues associated with mental illness is that the things in life most people take for granted as shit we do on automatic pilot becomes a struggle: get out of bed, eat, remember what soap is for, have a conversation with your friends and loved ones in something other than a robotic monotone... doing your job...
So, I'm finally starting to accept that the commissions I'd agreed to are never going to get done. The guilt just got harder and harder to face as the time went on and the deadlines and dates I'd promised got further and further into the past. I couldn't go forward, so I just... stopped. It's something I never really believed in, a thing I only ever saw in books or movies, and here I am, thinking, "WTH!?"
The only solution I think is right, is to give everyone who ordered a commission from me a refund, my sincerest apologies, and to take any lumps from my customers they feel I de
trozok21
thorfax
dranslin
kilroy
robbob4
If there is anyone I missed, please let me know?
Basically, what happened was this:
My health took a serious nose-dive, and I'm in pain nearly every day to the point where concentrating on work is nearly impossible. Some nights, I crawl into bed half-way in tears because of it. The list of problems is long, as is the pharmacy of drugs I have to take these days. I laugh whenever I have to fill out yet another fucking form that asks for a detailed listing of the medications I have to take and the amount of space given is too small. Doctor after doctor, specialists and therapists, tests after tests after yet more tests, even physical therapy. I have an appointment for a neurologist tomorrow to see what can be done about the constant migraines, and another with a different specialist to have a probe go up my back door. Just to add icing onto the cake, I'm going through fucking menopause. Well, at least pregnancy will no longer be a worry.
Then, there was the trial of the Step-Monster. The first trip up had me so wound up in knots, I was having daily panic-attacks, nightmares about the Step-Monster, and nearly got an ulcer (the doc said I skated on that one. Yay?), and I even got hives for the first time in my life, ever, on my fucking face. Lovely, dealing with some of the scariest shit in my life and I need to look good for court, and I get to have a disfigurement to add to the already overwhelming anxiety load. The final event came a year ago--the full trial--and it was back to the nightmares, panics, stomach pain and vomiting. Oh? I didn't mention the puking? Yeah, there was that, too. So, I head up to Winnipeg again (why can't I go up there for fun? We have a nice little sci-fi convention that's been around for thirty-five years), preparing for the trial and all the ugly questions I'll have to answer without crisping the defence-lawyer, and land... only to find out the fucking shit managed to die before facing me and what he'd done. Literally the night before his first testimony. The court was trying to get a hold of me that night and the next morning to tell me the trial had to be cancelled, but I was still in flight. FUCK. In fact, the first anniversary of his demise will be coming up in two weeks...
And I got to learn that paralysing guilt is really a thing. I froze--yes, for seven years--I couldn't work, I couldn't make reasonable, rational decisions, I felt sick whenever I thought about it. And I retreated and hid. I know some folks might think, "So just do it! Face your responsibilities, ya lazy dragoness! Fucking get off yer ass and work!" Easy to say, not so easy to do, it turned out. One of the joys of having multiple issues associated with mental illness is that the things in life most people take for granted as shit we do on automatic pilot becomes a struggle: get out of bed, eat, remember what soap is for, have a conversation with your friends and loved ones in something other than a robotic monotone... doing your job...
So, I'm finally starting to accept that the commissions I'd agreed to are never going to get done. The guilt just got harder and harder to face as the time went on and the deadlines and dates I'd promised got further and further into the past. I couldn't go forward, so I just... stopped. It's something I never really believed in, a thing I only ever saw in books or movies, and here I am, thinking, "WTH!?"
The only solution I think is right, is to give everyone who ordered a commission from me a refund, my sincerest apologies, and to take any lumps from my customers they feel I de
trozok21
thorfax
dranslin
kilroy
robbob4If there is anyone I missed, please let me know?
On a more positive note it's great to hear from you again.
Good to hear from you even if things aren't all roses.
I think people will understand. Work on healing yourself and breathing. <3 You can do it.
It's also great to hear that you're squaring up with your old commissioners. This will be one less thing to worry about for sure. Take care of yourself! Again, so sorry to hear you had to go through all of this. It's so unfair.