Where My Efforts Go

Dear lovely people reading this,

I feel exceedingly bad that this blog - although it does document my journey in life and growing personality - has become a place for me to complain about the issues in my life. I never hope to use the word 'unfair' here. It's not a concept I believe in and I don't think it would benefit me or you darling readers in any way. At the same time, I don't want to sugar-coat things and tell you my life is going great because that would be lying - which I am 100% against.

So what am I going to rant about today? Well, it's something that upset me today.

As you know, I write a lot. In a day, I probably write a minimum of 10,000 words - but that's because I'm an English student and it's expected of me. Also, I'm not saying that any of my 10,000 words will be any good. They usually end up in the bin. I put in a lot of effort into my writing because I enjoy it and I really do think it's an outlet for me, especially creative writing. So you can imagine why it's such a big shock for me when I get my essay back and the feedback literally says: 'needs proofreading'.

Excuse me while I mentally choke something.

I'm not angry at my teacher, just at myself. Because damn it, I proofread so many times and I still make mistakes.

And while I was having a mini-meltdown in the classroom, I realised that I've been spending too much time in the world of fanfiction (again). This essay that I wrote was half-filled with concepts and ideas that I used in my own creative writing. And that was when my anger dissipated into disappointment, then into embarrassment, then into shame.

How could I have been so stupid as to neglect my own education?

Yet I can't leave my blog, or my fanfiction, or my poetry, or my reading alone. They genuinely bring me joy. How was I supposed to give it all up?

It doesn't help that one of my best friends who lives far away from me sent me a message saying she was worried about me. She certainly had the right to be, but I was more concerned by the fact that I had been seen through. Even miles away, she could see something was wrong. And I was touched by her concern.

I've felt like nothing's gone right these past few months. I feel like I've made no progress and that really demoralises me. When I thought that there was someone out there who cared, it made me desperate. I instantly wanted to reconnect with her. I don't know if you've ever felt this starved for human contact in your life, but it's a pretty sad thing.

I don't want to rely on her, but I also don't want to be sad. So I decided not to see her.

Maybe I'll regret it later. Maybe, like the essay, I'll realise I made a horrific mistake. Maybe I won't. But at least this is my decision.

Do you think this is a twisted way of thinking? Because sometimes I do. I feel like I've gone too far with this. Yet at the same time i can't stop. It's addictive to 'be yourself'. It's addictive to find myself, even when I'm buried ten feet under.

I don't plan to stop - with writing either. And I can only hope you don't give up on me.