It’s hard to put your experiences out there for the world to see and judge.
Sometimes, after I have almost finished writing a post of mine, I can’t help, but stop and take a look at what I have written. And after rereading a paragraph or two for who knows how many times, I think about what my parents or family members would say if they were to somehow come across what I had written. And out of this irrational fear that any of them would find my blog in this empty and lonely space of the internet, I start to delete truthful passages and rearrange my thoughts so that they don’t sound too depressing. And with all these changes to my story, my life suddenly becomes flooded with fake memories and arbitrary emotions that were written and put into a specific place in my post so that my family could be protected from reading about my reality.
And the truth behind these stories no longer make sense to me. And the motivation to write about my experiences fades away to the point where I am no longer interested in writing about them. And I start to give up.
And I put away my laptop and go back to not discussing any of my experiences with anyone. And for a while, the comfort of not being burdened with spending hours upon hours writing and editing stories takes over. And I can’t help, but smile.
But I know this feeling will not last long. And before I know it, my shift in perspective changes.
I go online and a story of someone who has gone through similar experiences as myself catches my interests and provides me with some much-needed inspiration. And I begin to think of all these different ideas and concepts for posts that I could write. And they start to race in my head and bump into each other almost as if they were all competing against each other.
And I begin to tell myself that writing about my dyslexia, my brother, my drinking problem, or my meaningful friendships are interesting topics that are worth putting online for others to possibly relate to when they are done reading my posts.
And an outline of all these posts begin to form in my mind.
And then I start to type. Playing music that triggers my depression or anxiety and puts me in the right state of mind for the post that I am creating.
And my mind forgets about everything around me. The people walking in and out of the coffee shop, the elderly lady next to me, and the group of business men greeting each other two tables away from me don’t concern me. And I get lost in the world in my own little world.
Hours go by.
And I pour my heart into my writing. The best that a non-English major with a degree in Psychology can write. Informal writings from a twenty something year old that will hardly be noticed.
And as I am almost finished writing my post, I stop and I edit.
And I can’t help but feel how hard it is to put my experiences out there for the world to read and judge.
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The Endless Cycle Of... 