I’ve always loved writing. There was something magical about seeing your thoughts come to life on paper. As a child I would write down my hopes and dreams, and wait for them to materialise in the same fashion. Writing was my safe haven when the world became too much to bear. Don’t get me wrong, I love writing. I just think it’s something I shouldn’t be doing.
Over the past few months I have watched people grow and evolve. I’ve seen people get amazing opportunities from their written work alone. And although I’m SUPER happy for them, it has shown me that maybe I’m not cut out to be a writer. I feel like the amount of effort that I am putting in to improve my work is not translating to my writing. I think my grammar is still shaky and I hate using long ridiculous words (why make a person Google in order to understand what you are trying to say). Sure I got the opportunity to share my story in the new Project Semicolon book, but that seems different. I feel like in the book I could be honest about what I was feeling, but in my everyday writing I cannot.
I spoke to some people about my concerns surrounding my writing and many say it’s a need for validation. They say it as though validation is some form of prohibited substance. Validation is a basic human want/need. In some shape or form, we have all sought validation from those we love and even strangers. We use it as a means to reinforce the ideas we have of ourselves and the world. And before you start denying it, think about the last time you were unsure of a decision you made. That decision was most probably reinforced, and thus appeared to be the correct decision, when someone you know validated that decision in some way.
Perhaps my skewed self-image is making it hard for me to be more social and aggressive (marketing wise) in order to get my work more out there. Maybe I need to stop writing about mental illness and switch over to something more conventional because conventional seems to work. I keep being told that writing about mental health won’t serve me on the long run and I’m afraid I’m starting to believe them. Writing, like many things in my life, is starting to make me anxious and somewhat depressed.
So I’ve stopped writing.
I mean I haven’t gone cold turkey, but I’m slowly winding down. I’ve stopped writing poetry, my journal entries are down to the bare essentials, and the blog will close once the subscription expires. Yes one writes out of passion, but one also writes to be seen and to be heard.
Lately I feel like I’m invisible.