This post is gonna be kind of like a continuation of my previous blog post, but if you haven’t checked that out I’m sure you’ll still be able to get what I’m about to write.
So here it comes…
Is it really that great that writing is the one thing I’m better at, (or supposedly better at), was the unanswered question I left you with, and let me tell you why it’s not.
You know it’s great that I’ve found something I’m great at and something I most importantly love, but it’s also just so hard because I’ve got all these dreams and I’m not realizing any of them, I’m just putting pressure on myself and killing my creativity.
So yeah, that’s my problem. You see, my biggest dream is to write a book, and it wouldn’t even need to be published, I’d be happy just knowing that I fucking did it, that I created that. I’m also positive I’m gonna do so one day, since I’m pretty determined once I decide on something.
But what I do instead of just writing, because why not just put some words on a page, is that I overthink it and it’s weird, but it’s like I’m kinda afraid to write anything longer than a blog post or a novella. Like I’ve got all these ideas in my head, storylines, characters, scenes, even dialogues, I just can’t make myself fucking write it on the bloody paper. Like I’m scared it’ll be shit, even though I know that I can just delete it or edit and stuff. I’m scared of disappointing myself, not being able to finish once I’ve started and all of these stupid things that run around in my head.
I want to write so badly though, but it’s like every time I wanna get down to it, I just can’t, that I psysically just can’t do it.
It didn’t use to be this way though. I’ve started a story and I’ve written like a lot on it, but then someday I just stopped, and when I read it through it was shit and I was discouraged from continuing where I left off, so I just left it like that.
But not writing makes me even more depressed than writing, and it was also the thing that kinda sent my into a near depression last year, because it was just tearing me down.
And I might only be 14 years old, I might have all the time in the world to write nothing and everything, but seriously my biggest fear is to be 90 or something and look back at my life regretting that I never did it, that I didn’t do the one thing that meant the world to me.
Because writing does mean the world to me, it’s everything to me, it’s the one thing that can determine if I’m feeling shitty or if I’m feeling good.
So no I can’t “just” write, but not writing isn’t really an option either, unless of course I want to be miserable for the rest of my life, (and though it might seem like I actually don’t like unnecessary pain).
So right now my substitute is kinda blogging, that way I’m still writing at least something, but I’m not suffocating myself, and then I can slowly work my way toward getting my inspiration and the want to write back.
So that was the depressing story about my biggest dream. Let me hear about yours! (Both your biggest dream and your depressing story)