I have not written much lately, because………as much as I think that I conjure up good ideas, when I put them down, they do not always sound like what I had in my mind – there is often a gap between what my mind is conjuring up, and what actually makes it to the paper. Or, I have a difficult time accepting that they may (or may NOT) be any good: is it worthy of my time and energy? Or worse, yet, I conjure up in my mind that many around me do not really like my writing, much less respect it, and I come around to thinking that maybe they think I am less than intelligent.
Over the weekend, I participated in something of a ‘poll’ on Facebook, instigated by one who is writing a book based on the responses. I believed my response was decent enough; it was certainly felt from the heart. Later, a mutual friend posted their own response, which was quite the response. Upon reading it, my heart conjured up feelings of inadequacy. In turn, that inadequacy conjured up a feeling of insecurity. So, what did I do? I deleted my own comment.
I enjoy writing. I enjoy the concept of sharing my thoughts, opinions, and just stories based in reality but with definitive embellishment. However, feelings of inadequacy are indeed conjured up when I believe the response is lukewarm at best, or worse yet, no response at all. These inadequacies in turn conjure up the idea that maybe I am not so smart, after all – which in turn conjures up, eventually, the idea that I am an immature person to an absurd level – a trait and feeling that insults me to my core, well beyond just the insecurities.
Conjuring images with my words is something I love doing; ironically, n doing so, that very thing in turn conjures up what I consider to be some of the worst traits in a person: petty jealousies and insecurities, and in turn the desire to just turn and run away from writing. But then, I always come groveling back to it, and the cycle begins again.
Writing is cathartic, because it allows me to put down my truest confessions, although I may NOT always share them. Utilizing the idea of putting words down on paper is like confessing to God whatever it is that is on my mind – whether my mind is presently containing good or bad. And most often, I feel absolved. While I realize my writings are not always of the highest possible quality, putting it down does help me to maintain a balance. It allows me to cleanse myself in the way a good cry makes one feel better. Sadly, though, I wind up wondering why I wrote this or that, and wonder if people who do take the time to read it believe me to be an idiot. Putting oneself in front of others is a difficult thing, for fear of criticism….or, for fear that no one is reading.