I know I’m a good writer but I feel like I’m going to be the cause of my own demise. This medium takes discipline, something I don’t have. As soon as I think that I’ve finally gained stride and conquered my habit of being inconsistent here I am again. Weeks and months without any body of writing. I fear failure so much that I might just create a self fulfilling prophecy. Don’t choke, a part of me tells myself, the part of me that’s saved my life too many times to count. I never officially give up but God am I tired of being at square one over and over again. I should have been further then where I am by now. I should have multiple scripts and manuscripts and short stories and essays by now. It’s all backed up in my mind.
When on Earth will I move forward without stopping? What more must I lose? I’ve lost the job I thought would be the foundational mortar for my career. I’ve lost the home I thought I’d always return too when the world grew too cold. I’ve lost the relationship that everyone considers to be the greatest of all; the one between mother and child. I’m living on my final few hundred dollars as I make the best of my brother’s charity on his couch.
I’m so full of doubt.
All I have is my writing. It’s all I have now. Even with that I still find myself being…reluctant. Despite the confirmations I’ve received from prominent writers here I am, seemingly choking. Will I ever gain the tunnel vision necessary to conceive these illustrious tales that pollute my imagination? Everybody says success requires 10% talent and 90% hard work. If those are the odds then my God I’m fucked.
Same God, I’m trying. What I can say that I like about myself is that even when I go idle I cannot bear it for too long, not until the point of no return. I want to rip my skin open with my blunt fingers and offer my flesh raised high to the stars as my offering, my sacrifice, anything it takes to rid me of this doubt. I feel its roots deeply planted somewhere within my chest and the cosmos of my soul. I want to tear myself apart and rid myself of the poison within me. The lies I tell myself are crimes against my own spirit. I want to see it die before me. I believe it will, it has too. I recognize my blessings and know that it’s all up to me. Doubt won’t win, the world is depending on my visions. My people are waiting. The true battle of Heaven and Hell is happening within me and my God I swear it – I will come out shining.