Writing is something terribly therapeutic for me, like having a soul massage. But at the same time, I’m so afraid of doing so… perhaps I’m afraid of not being good enough, of what being “good enough” means for me, of my personal view of myself if I’m not enough.
I guess I’m not unlike many perfectionists out there who upon facing the possibility of not being up to their own standards, they prefer simply not being at all.
Writing feels somewhat like following my destiny. When I do it, that is the only time when I feel like I’m doing what I want to do with myself… unlike teaching, which feels like doing what I’m supposed to do because that’s what I’m best at. I’m far removed from the best who write, and yet it fills me up so much more.
And yet, I’ve never been too serious about writing, I don’t have specific times for it, or anything even slightly resembling a routine around it. Fuck, I haven’t written shit in probably more than a year. That’s just exactly how much of a lame writer I am.
I keep showing myself time and time again that I haven’t got the least bit what’s necessary to keep doing what I want to do until I’m as good as I want to be. I haven’t got any kind of structure around writing either. All my shit is scattered around fuck knows where, and a big part of it I won’t ever get back because it’s lost in unfinished notebooks, or buried under long forgotten passwords within files I don’t even remember the names for anyways.
It’s like I’m just scattering around little pieces of me everywhere I go. Like I enjoy chipping away and I intend to keep going until there’s nothing left to chip from, and nobody will ever know where exactly the last piece was lost, least of all me.
Instead of pouring my heart and soul into once place so that at least those two elements of me remain, I give them away little by little so that not even I can get them back. My writings are little trinkets with no use and no collection to form part of.
Another thing about my writing is that is has to do with sadness and depression. Why are these the inspiration, or motivation? Does it mean I’m not really a writer, but just someone whose found in writing a way to take the steam off of her? I guess that’s another one of the things that scare me about the topic.
Perhaps I’m not scared, but reluctant about going there in the first place, because I don’t like to be in the place that gets me writing in the first place, and I’d like to be able to write when I’m ok too. And perhaps I’ll never learn how to.
I once heard Damien Rice describing the same thing about not being able to be creative when he was in a good place emotionally. He even caught himself actively provoking things in his life to be depressed about, because that’s the place he needed to be in order to write songs, and the need to write songs was stronger than the need to be ok… I wonder if he as able to change that, and if he did, I wonder whether those songs were any good (though in any case probably not as good as the “bad place” songs).
Is there any way to unlearn this way of creating? How do I bypass these little fiddle I’m in? Is there a way to do that or is it engraved in my way of being?