I miss getting into my writing. I miss being obsessed with the characters and their stories that I couldn’t wait to write more each day. I would draw them (poorly) to try and make them more real because I wanted to know everything I could about them. I miss crying with them and laughing and feeling sad or angry or elated.
But every time I start to write I hear this voice in my head. “You’re not good enough. This will never be good. You’re not smart enough or clever enough or good enough to write something that will be good. And you will never be.”
So I don’t write. I’ll get maybe a page done and then never touch it again. And when I read through it I can imagine all of the places it could go but my fingers don’t take me there. Because I’m not good. And it makes me bitter because when I did write I had all these people telling me I was good and that they liked my writing. And there’s that voice in my brain: “they were lying to you. Of course they were lying to you. You always look like a lost puppy except not cute. You’re not good. They didn’t like your writing. They were lying to you.”
I think it’s probably Ana saying these things to me. Since I started seeing my body through my own eyes instead of hers she needed to evolve into something else.
And I don’t even know if I want to write at all anymore. But I know that I want to be someone. I want to be important. I don’t want to just be this worker drone never creating anything of importance.
But at the same time I just keep hoping that all of this will end soon. Because I can’t write. I don’t know what I want and I can’t find the motivation to figure out what I want. It’s easier for me to blindly do busy work at my job. And I think that’s also why I want to get that feeling back of being so wrapped up in creating something.
But every time, there she is.
I’m not good enough…