So let me keep it real.
I have been a on a downhill spiral since the middle of last year... Surprisingly however it has nothing to do with covid or anything like that.
At the start of 2020 I decided to start rebooting an old story of mine, which is the one i’m currently posting on this website, Journey to Ataraxia.
I worked home office since before covid, and at the start of the year every second I had of free time at work I’d spend writing, and then it would extend over my free time as well. I always loved this story and to have it going again so well made me happy and I wanted to share it with other people.
Thing is over the course of a whole year where I posted it on FA (a furry website) I only got a few scraps of views, nobody ever bat an eye... Over the span of an entire year’s worth of content I got a single comment (from a personal friend of mine) and about 80% of the likes on my story there were from my husband (who figured out rather quick how depressed I got when i didn't get any)... Thanks to that, I began to feel the exact same thing that made me drop the story the first time.
No longer was I excited about a new upload day, it instead became my most dreaded day of the week as I knew I’d be overcome with depression for the rest of the day... I was tired of messing around with it, tired of shouting into the void.
I’m a 28-year-old guy, I dropped out of 3 different college’s and I find 0 joy in my regular work... Writing is all I have and all I consider myself good at. It is my passion, my joy and even a significant part of my personal life (my husband was the first reader on the original version of this story)
And now I keep getting overwhelmed by this feeling. This feeling that if I don’t shape this into something that draws eyes, I’ll never be anything in life... And it’s made worse by the fact that I believe it’s the truth...
I’m not getting any younger, I’m not getting anything done, I’m not building anything that I could pass onto someone else, so this is all I have and will ever have... If this doesn’t work I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself, I’m not sure I can handle a whole life filling insurance paperwork and boring the hell out of the one person who gives a shit about me.
At the same time, this very feeling feels like it taints me... It pushes me into this direction where I want to do stupid things even if just to call attention and draw eyes to me because eyes on me are eyes on my work right? Or so my deeply shitty brain keeps telling me. And i have to police my own mind as to not let those terrible thoughts ooze into my creation.
I realize things are not that simple, and that I shouldn’t be that desperate... But sometimes it just feels so very hard, and even the slightest little think can set me off in a cascade of misery that sends me breaking down in tears in the shower.
At the start of the year i decided to take a break from writing to try and recenter myself, and so far that helped. Tapas has actually helped rekindle this fire in me too, but in my faulty brain I keep thinking... ‘for how long?’ What happens when I run out of material and become just... Another voice in the void.
I suppose I’ll find out then, won’t I? It’s no use being scared now.
I still hold on, I try not to let it get to me.
I love my characters, I want to tell their story, and I want others to feel the same way i do about them... And more so than anything i want to love writing again.
But damn, it’s just so hard sometimes.
Anyway... Sorry about the rant folks, this post just came at a time i really... Really... Needed to vent.