So here is where I am at right now.
I’m scared of a lot of things. I really like to pretend that I have it all together. I’m not sure if it actually comes across that way, but I would really like for it to. What is scaring me a lot right now is how I feel about writing, and how my writing feels about me. I have always thought that nothing makes me more vulnerable than an empty page, but I think I am growing tired of having to think through things I am running out of energy to think through.
I believe writing has always been there for me because I will always be the kind of person who needs to sit by herself and organize her thoughts. I’m not lying when I say it blows my mind that not everyone is thinking about everything all at once, all the time. It’s hard for me to understand that not everyone has that annoying level of self-analysis, simply because I am always twisting my interpretations to try and figure out how I really perceive situations. For me, my reality only gets realer when I focus on what the center of it is. I will always have to pull things apart. And that scares me.
I think I started this website as a way for me to feel like I finally controlled the thoughts I had written down to organize. When I felt like they had too much power over me, all I had to do was hit the publish button and I had successfully convinced my mind that I was in complete control.
Here is my relationship with writing right now. Writing is a war of a few hundred battles, one fought every time I sit down to say something. Each time it is just hitting the keys until I feel like I’m going to bleed. And lately it seems as if I am really tired of bleeding. Sometimes the blood is beautiful. It is my lifeline and the very heart of what I am trying to say in that moment. But sometimes it is too much for me to handle. Sometimes the blood comes out too fast, so that I can’t keep up. Then I am left with my heart on the counter but not enough of it left in me to keep me going.
Maybe I am taking this analogy too far. Sometimes writing just isn’t a muscle I want to exercise anymore because it feeds off of the things that scare me. Whenever I sit down to write, it is what I am scared of that ends up on the page.
I am scared that I am so invested in reforming my view of religion because I don’t want to admit to myself that I cannot come up with a rational explanation for the things I am told to leave up to faith. I am scared that I don’t actually care about the things I have convinced myself I do- and instead I am just so fixated on the fact that people did it wrong and I have enough of a hero complex to feel like I am the one who needs to fix it. Am I compassionate or do I just care about making myself appear righteous? I am scared by the fact that the world keeps spinning round and round whether we recognize it or not. I’m scared that all of life is in the process of changing and I am not quite sure what I want to do with that information.
I’m scared that when I look back at all the words I wrote I will feel more discomfort than appreciation. I’m scared that of the many dreams I want to pursue, I will choose the wrong one. I’m scared that I will spend my whole life ripping things apart so much that nothing will ever be sufficient. I’m scared that people see my way of understanding things as me sitting on the throne of self-entitlement. And I’m scared that the big questions calling for big answers maybe aren’t even that big in the first place.
And that’s where I am at right now. That is what my writing wants me to say. Kinda scary.