Today is one of those days where things appear to be going wrong left and right. I cannot begin to explain the irritation I’m feeling at the moment. All I can say is I am close to quitting this so-called “job” and deal with the consequences of being broke until I find something else. Being miserable and getting treated as if you are less than is not okay. This is only a minor rant to keep myself from lashing out at those who do not deserve it. My next post was supposed to be positive and more light-hearted, but that went out the window today. I need to stop letting this place get the best of me. I just can’t help it when I have all this frustration building up on a daily basis. I need to do something asap to get myself out of this situation before this gets any worse. I can’t keep living like this. This place is not worth my time.
I wake up every morning dreading the fact I have to waste another day of my one and only life doing something I really don’t want to do. And I get it, that’s being an adult. As an adult you do things you don’t want to do, that’s the reality, but when is it time to say enough? When is it okay to walk away in order to make yourself happy?
I had to leave my office for a couple of minutes with my large coffee mug in hand to get a breath of fresh air before I lost my cool in the midst of the work chaos. While I stood outside by the brook sipping my hot, liquid obsession, my eyes painfully adjusted to the natural sunlight of the cool spring morning. Once the pain began to subside my eyes glanced around at my familiar surroundings, absorbing all the colorful beauty that nature had to offer. All that was missing was a blanket to lie on and a book to get lost in. It was that moment that hit me with a number of thoughts, yet only one notably stuck out.
“Why am I here wasting my time, allowing myself to be miserable? Why can’t you quit and do something meaningful with your time while you still can?
I have heard so many stories of people quitting their jobs to fulfil their dreams, or to do meaningful work, but I’m not them. In my mind, if I do that I see myself failing. In order to succeed you have to fail a few times, blah, blah, but I don’t have the time to fail. I do not have the money to protect myself in case of said failure. Do I have a fear of failure? Sure! Who wouldn’t be nervous about failing? But I need a plan. If there is no plan in place, I am in freak out mode. I wish I could quit right now, be confident in putting all my energy into writing and hope for the best, but hope isn’t enough.
Where do people get their faith to take that big leap and bet on themselves? I know there isn’t a single definitive answer, I just long for the moment I figure things out because life is too short to be this miserable.
Note: This was more of a freewriting exercise for my sanity. At least it’s hump day.
It doesn’t matter if I’m reading a book, reading fan fiction, blog posts, or observing writing partners develop their storylines through online role-play, I always seem to find myself inspired and jealous at the same time. It’s so immature of me to feel jealous of others and their talents, but when I read the amazing work some people do I only end up becoming harder on myself. I begin to think, ‘You’ve been writing for years and you’re nowhere near as talented as they are. Quit slacking and work.’ I know I shouldn’t compare myself to others, we’re all in different stages of our writing, but I can’t help feeling frustrated with not being where I feel I should be by now.
What I can say is I’m glad I’ve improved in comparison to the writing I did five years ago. I was sifting through old documents on my laptop when I came across a file I couldn’t quite recall having. When I clicked it open and saw the first opening lines, I gasped and laughed of self embarrassment.
“I slowly opened my eyes. My vision might’ve been blurry, but when I looked around at my surroundings I knew exactly where I was. The IV drip, blaring sirens, monitors beeping, annoying the shit out of me. Yeah, I definitely recognized where I was. ”
Of course I read all twenty pages and cringed through the entire thing, but I was also proud of that little horror show. It brought me back to when I first started putting the story together. To me, the ideas were solid, they just weren’t properly executed at the time. With the practice that I have had since then, I could take the story into a more exciting direction and polish it up real nice.
I may not be where I want to be right now, but after seeing how much I’ve improved from that old story, I just need to keep in mind that not only do things take time, but it takes a lot of practice and a lot of reading.
Also, I honestly couldn’t have improved from where I was if it wasn’t for my writing partners. They are some of the best writers I know and with some of that jealousy comes that inspiration I mentioned earlier. My partners help push me to be better. Not only by encouraging me to continue writing over the years, but their continued support of me in making my ideas become a reality. Sometimes I feel they have more faith in me and my writing than I do. I appreciate it more than they could ever know.
There are moments when I sit in front of my laptop, or stare at my journal, for hours before a full sentence has been completed. All I want to do is transfer all my thoughts into words. It shouldn’t be this complicated. It is almost to the point of infuriating. I feel like I have to beg my own brain to work with me. How ridiculous is that?
Truthfully, as I really think about it, it could be my depression making an attempt to crawl its way back to the front lines of my life. The more I think about it the more I realize writing does become more challenging for me when depression is involved. The joy I feel when writing quickly diminishes, apathy abruptly sets in, then it cripples my mind to the point where physical symptoms emerge and it’s literally painful to get out of bed in the morning.
I truly hope that isn’t the case. I really don’t want to deal with it, again. I cannot allow depression and anxiety to dictate my life anymore than it already has. Fifteen years of feeling like a prisoner within my own mind is long enough.
I created a site because my mind is a disarray of ideas and writing helps to ease the noise. With my site, I hope to not only become a better writer, but to gain more confidence in my writing rather than always knocking it down whenever I receive a compliment. I know it’s fine to be your own toughest critic, yet I also know that I can be too hard on myself. It’s time to fix that.
Side note: I really need to figure out how I want to arrange this site.