This post might get lengthy and a tad existential, so if that’s too heavy for you on a Wednesday morning, I won’t be offended if you stop reading now. Otherwise, refresh that coffee and prepare for me to babble on about shit for a few paragraphs.
I know goths have the reputation for being morose misanthropes who growl at anyone that dares approach them. Okay, so I can be like that at times. Still, I don’t romanticize being cradled in the depths of despair. Victor Hugo said, “Melancholy is the happiness of being sad.” While gloom and apathy feel comforting and familiar to me, I don’t strive to consistently maintain those emotions. I admit, I have spent the majority of my life feeling down (thanks, chronic depression); however, I don’t view it as some great achievement to be sad all the time.
Over the last few weeks, I have felt decidedly more in touch with my inner Eeyore; particularly when it comes to my writing. Combine the existential sadness with the imposter syndrome, and you have a girl who is ready to just delete her entire online presence and disappear into the ether.
No, this isn’t one of those “why do I even try” posts. It’s more like the act of publishing my work for the masses makes me want to shrink away in fear because I have to put my soul out there for the world to devour. I have a day job (because writing pays fuck all for folks like me) and out of everyone I work with, only one person even knows about my books. One. I admit, I keep professional me separate from author me. Not because I am ashamed of what I create; it’s just that I fear letting folks who know me get in that close and see the real me. It’s easier here in this blog, because with the exception of a handful of followers, none of y’all know me in real life. I can pour my heart out here without the fear of being judged. Do all writers go through this? Am I just fucking broken or something? I see authors promoting their work at every opportunity. I do have socials on which I post about my writing, but I don’t tell folks in the real world about this part of my life. People who have known me since childhood know, but being that they literally grew up with me, I fear no judgment. They know I’m weird. They love me regardless.
Some days, I just want to disappear. I want to delete my socials, shut down the website, and pretend I never created anything to begin with. I want to lock away all the stories and characters and keep them safe inside my mind. Other days, I can’t wait to post a new poem or book idea. Stop the emotional seesaw, I want to get off. Do I actually want recognition, or do I not? Are my stories even any good? Will people think they are amateur horse shit and deem me less intelligent or less capable as a person because my writing sucks? Maybe that is why I thrive in the anonymity. If author me fails, real life me can still succeed. The duality protects me. I’ve spent my entire life getting judged or laughed at for one reason or another. I guess I just don’t have the courage to handle that anymore.
Melancholy feels warm and inviting to me. Like an old friend. Perhaps I should just embrace it for a while. I do try to be happy and balanced, but that has never come naturally to me. It’s so bizarre to want people to notice your work, yet you fear sharing your work with anyone who knows you. Sometimes I feel trapped in this macabre waltz between who I want to be and what it takes to get there.
I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep putting my work out there. Whether or not I will ever reconcile the dual nature of Twisted Libra remains to be seen. For now, I suppose I will sit contently in the anonymity. Besides, sadness is a most delicious muse. I have created some of my most favorite poems and stories while under the weight of sorrow. If I must be chronically depressed, I may as well use it to my benefit, no?
At this point, I feel I have lost touch with whatever I initially set out to discuss. Oh, well. If you are still reading, I humbly thank you and I apologize if this post felt like one long whine. I swear it isn’t. I am just trying to cope, and writing helps. I don’t even care to mention my books today, but if this post didn’t turn you off from ever reading my blog again, here is the link to subscribe:
I’m looking back over what I have written and I am starting to feel foolish for sharing so much. That’s my cue to quickly proofread and hit the publish button before I lose my nerve and delete everything. Thank you for reading. If you can relate to any of this, feel free to drop a comment (or an email if you’d rather it be kept private). Maybe the next blog post will be a little more upbeat.
Until next time…
Dancing Among the Remains 