I know it’s been a while since I blogged about anything. I know I said I would write more this year, and it’s the first day of June 2016 and I haven’t exactly kept that promise. I’ve lost the motivation to write, to be honest, and for a while there, also the motivation to read anything – arguably two of my only interests unless you count YouTube as one.
My blog’s called Freedom and Inspiration, with the site address having Inspiration and Writing and for the last two months or so I’ve been neither free, nor inspired to write anything. My mind has been a blank, and even if I wanted to write something, I would’ve second guessed myself and not put it into words at all. I’ve been writing this post in my head for over two weeks, rewriting and scrapping until two days ago, when my best friends told me how important it was to express myself in the way I know best and why I shouldn’t really give up or take a break from writing simply because I got rejected from a couple things I wanted to be a part of.
So here’s the deal: I’ve always thought of myself as someone who didn’t take failure to her heart, who used it as a stepping stone and all that jazz. Unfortunately though, this past month taught me I’m more sensitive and less sensible than I thought I was. I even nicknamed myself the Anti-Midas there for a bit, you know the person who fails at everything they attempt – the one whose touch can cause failure and bad luck to befall anything.
I didn’t realize how big a part of my life it was until it was taken away, you see. I seem to have placed an extraordinary amount of trust in the fact that I’d get to do it one last time, not knowing I already had. I’d fallen in love and it didn’t even know I existed in the cruel twist of fate I did not expect. It became such a huge part of my life and now I don’t know how to deal with it.
I’ve been rejected for a particular post I wanted several times, heck it took me two tries to become Subhead itself and another couple to become Editor and never have I taken it so badly. I’ve turned to moping and feeling sorry for myself, having a pity party for myself every day. I’ve turned into someone I don’t recognize anymore and I don’t like it one bit.
My best friends tried to talk some sense into me, what I’m after won’t matter in the long run anyway and the fact of the matter is that I didn’t want it anyway. A bit before I got to know I wasn’t going to be doing it this year, I wondered if I really wanted to do it on someone else’s terms and I didn’t. My brain recognizes it was the best thing, my heart, not so much. It was set on those three months turning into those three days, making memories with other people and all, one last time. I think it also stems from the fact that my last experience wasn’t a good one and I wanted a do-over. I didn’t get it and so I’m not happy, or at least I wasn’t. I’m working on fully accepting it now.
Back in school, I never got the opportunity to become head of anything post primary school and the fact that two people, one of whom was my best friend then, got asked and refused it and I didn’t even get a chance stung me badly. I’d never gotten over that, storing it in a deep mental list of my failures I didn’t even know about. That list reared its ugly head when I got rejected twice in a row this summer. I knew it was a long shot for one, but I thought the other may just happen. The fact that I’d expected it made it harder for me to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t lose the chance; I didn’t get it at all.
It sucks more because my best friend is doing it and there’s a part of me that desperately wishes I was doing it with her. And the other one wants to chill and do something else for a change. And then there’s the third part saying I’ll never be good enough, not as good as the others anyway, not good enough to ever amount to anything. It isn’t easy to deal with this when it seems like everyone else is getting what they want, is doing what they want. There’s a twisted piece inside me wishing for unhappiness for everyone so they can feel what I feel, feel how useless and worthless I feel because it hurts and I don’t know when it will stop hurting because I can’t do anything about it except suck it up.
I’ve never faced this complete and utter loss of hope before so I’m a little unsure on how to deal with it, and I don’t think snarky little taunts from others are any help. I know I’m supposed to ignore them, but it’s difficult when they manage to wrangle their way into my mind, making me doubt everything I believe in.
But it’s been a month and I’m tired of moping and my friends aren’t getting any happiness from seeing me waste away and not put what I know to good use. One of my best friends said that what I lost was simply a way for me to get into writing and how ironic it is that now that it’s gone, I’ve let it take my words away from me. And whether I was okay being a weak person, because if I call myself strong, I should be able to deal with this failure, learn from it and move on.
And I don’t want to be weak anymore. I don’t want to covet someone else’s happiness because that is not me. I want to be happy again. I want to write again, for me, not because I want to be published or because I want to be a part of something that doesn’t want me. I finished my first book in weeks last night; this post is the first one I’ve written in over a month. It’s going to be slow, it’s going to be difficult but I’m going to get over this.I’ve enjoyed being miserable, having a pity party for too long. It’s time for it to end.
And until it does, my best friends have my back. Thank you.
Until next time,
P.S – Listening to Troye Sivan’s Blue Neighbourhood Trilogy and Halsey’s Colours wasn’t very helpful, but oh my god, they are so fucking good. Please, give them a listen.