Occasionally, I have one of those days where it seems I can’t shake a fog.
I suffer, quite often, from self doubt. I fight off the feelings that I am not good enough. I fight off feelings that I can’t do anything right. I fight, sometimes unsuccessfully, with feelings that no one cares what I say or do. I fight off the fact that I am a huge disappointment to everyone.
I look for patterns that reinforce this mindset too.
Like when I am told by people I have loved and admired that they just don’t care about what interests me. Or when friends forget to do things they’ve said they do. Logically, I know they didn’t mean it and they’ve apologized. But emotionally is a whole other ball park. Emotionally, I feel like it’s just one more drop in the emotional baggage bucket that is my life at times. I antagonize over it in my head in my moments of self-loathing. I remember it even when I tell myself a million different times to forget it. It stays as a part of the pattern in my head. But I do eventually snap out of it. I do learn to accept it, sometimes…..
Some days, I find my happiness right away. I find the joy in the little things. I try to remain childlike in my wonder, even as the cynicism tried to creep its way in. I send texts to say hi and just checking in, not expecting answers. I watch the clouds track across the sky or the squirrels as they run across a yard. I play with my house panther and love on my elderly feline. I snuggle with the bear of a husband I have laid claim to since 2007.
But then there are some days where it takes longer than others. Some days the emotional toll is so great that I just want to curl up and cry myself to nothingness. Those are the days I wish I could do without.
I remember these moments though in my head. The feelings, the sadness, the constant racing thoughts. I use them in my stories. My characters are emotionally me…. every thought and feeling my own (or some semblance thereof), every deep wish something that is rooted in my fears and dreams and failures. They become me.
It’s why most of my stories are written in the first person.
I tend to tell a story better that way. Third person works too, but it’s not my way of telling some stories. I become Manda, Templeton, Solilune, Tetyana, Silus, and now Mopsa (amongst the other characters I am working on – including Garrion, who is the main character of my next story). I feel what they are feeling. I see what they see. I cry when they cry.
But I still doubt myself. Every story I write, I worry that it’s not perfect. I think I write drivel. There’s too much stupidity in it. No one will like it. No one cares. And then I return to full circle to the self doubt once more
That cycle is still within me, deeply ingrained. I am trying to break it, but its links are strong and sometimes I feel I am not.
But I try to persevere through it. It’s why I tell myself to keep writing my own story. It’s why I tell others to do the same. Just write. Get your words out.
Get your words out.
Tell the story in your mind.
Who cares if it’s perfect. That’s what editing is for!
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