Personal · writer

Stuck in rock bottom

depression-journey

*I do not own this image*

I remember the first time I realized I enjoyed writing. It started when I was in fifth grade and had to go after school for extra help for reading and math. My teacher was a nice lady and probably the only one who ever encouraged my love for poetry. Back in the day, I hated reading, hell, I still don’t like reading that much. I was a slow reader, it took me longer to understand what was being said. Reading was a horror show for me. I will be the first to tell you I’m not a very intellectual person, I’m creative, imaginative. But my teacher saw how much I enjoyed poetry, particularly by a boy who was very ill. I can’t remember his name for the life of me, but I remember reading his work over and over again and sobbing in my bedroom. It was simple and I could understand it.

Not long after I discovered this joy, my teacher set up a poetry club for me. Of course a few other students joined in too, all of which were people I knew and was friends with. The problem was I sucked at writing poetry. I thought my ideas were brilliant until I got to the club and everyone seemed to be better than me. It wasn’t long before the club ceased to exist.

I’m sure you’re sitting behind your computer screen wondering why the hell you’re reading this post. Part of me is wondering why I’m even writing it. It just kind of popped into my head. Lately I’ve been thinking about how much pleasure I get out of coming up with story ideas. I love plots, characters, the works. I just seem stuck again on how I’m supposed to live in a writers world. the truth is, I can’t.  I think back to all those times teachers encourage you to work hard and you can be anything you want. I get teachers have to encourage students otherwise they have nothing to look forward to, but shit, it is twenty times harder than they made it seem.

Writing is one of the only thing that has brought life back into me after a shitload of garbage. I’m just trying to figure all this out in my head and it’s draining me. I hope to God I’m not the only one. When I look at what I’ve accomplished I’m proud, yet I still feel like it’s not enough.

(High five if you got the SpongeBob reference)

 

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