I can't write. I can't get the words onto the computer without criticizing them endlessly until I just delete it. I bought a notebook and some pens in an attempt to write longhand, but I just don't touch it. I'm too afraid someone will find it and read what I wrote in it.
These self-esteem problems are really way worse than I thought. They're interfering with the only thing I used to love to do. The only thing that gave my life any personal meaning. The only "voice" I had in this overcrowded world.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs. A long, anguished scream of pain and defeat. I am a gnat, I am nobody, and the world will forget me when I am gone.
Enough already! Get away from me, you voices from my past. You demons sent to torment me. Leave me in peace, or find out what War is. This is why I named this diary, "Welcome to the War," after all. I knew I was in for a fight.
I just didn't expect to be losing.
These issues have taken the only thing that mattered in my life. My voice. My queen. My capital city. Now, all that's left is the wailing. A couple rooks, a knight, and a bishop. A few rural towns.
Kurt Vonnegut once said that the only thing you can do with damaged self-esteem is "take it out to pasture." I can't believe that. I won't believe that. As long as I have any fight left in me, I'm going to prove him wrong.
My time will come. I am resourceful. I am clever. I am determined. This tyranny of self-hate will come crashing down.
I will not give up. Welcome to the War, kats and kittens. Be prepared to witness the biggest come-back in history.