It's not difficult to come up with something to say. At least, for me. I'm opinionated and overly-self-analyzing, and I am creative enough to always have half-a-dozen ideas for fictional stories running through my head.
The difficulty I have is letting myself be heard. This is the only spot I write in, and while I've received a surprising amount of positive feedback, these are purely personal responses to purely personal anecdotes.
I write . . . no, correct that: I WROTE . . . fiction every day during my younger years, but I always balked at showing it to people. Once I realized the only step I could take to continue writing fiction was to show it to other people to JUDGE, I abandoned the endeavor. More specifically, I sat and stared at the blank screen and became terrified of it. Every word I wrote was surely the wrong one, so the best thing I could do was pack it in and accept I'll never be a writer. So, I didn't become a writer.
Well, yet. Maybe one day I will. When I get over my fears.
Fear keeps me down. Fear, fear, fear. Some people take daring chances and push for their world-view to be accepted. Sometimes they succeed, sometimes they fail. But they TRY . . .
I assume I'll fail and don't try at all. In case you were unaware, not trying means I'm guaranteed not to succeed. I understand this, but when it comes right down to it failing through inaction seems less dangerous than failing through action.
It doesn't make sense. I know. I feel like an idiot, knowing my thought processes don't make sense, but you don't know the FEAR . . .
As a random example, I failed to take my medication this last month. Why? The insurance company refused to pay. I don't know why the insurance company refused to pay, because I was enormously frightened of speaking to them, and therefore did not. My therapist was out of town, and seeing my psychiatrist more than once a month is prohibitively expensive (particularly combined with the other financial difficulties I faced recently). There are emergency contact numbers set up at the agency for exactly this reason, but I was convinced everyone would laugh at me.
Pretty stupid, huh?
In fairness, life wasn't all that bad without my Pills, but that's only in the short term. Little things build up, and soon I'm back to living in my closet and collecting my own urine and speaking in gibberish only I can understand. I've been down that road, and it's not pretty.
I now have no excuse to write for the political blog I mentioned in an earlier post. It's an honest attempt to raise awareness of something I find important, and actually write as I desire to write. So, naturally, FEAR keeps me away . . .
I'm back on my Pills. I promise. If I could have that kind of paranoid reaction while still on the Pills, I don't want to chance the repercussions that come with prolonged absence of Pills.
And I WILL start writing for that blog.
I just need to vent. I always need to vent.
You kats and kittens are the greatest. I ever get my act together enough, I'm throwing you a serious party.
Until the next edition of my exciting life story, be well and be strong.