I think that’s sometimes why I love to write. With each sentence, I feel like I understand myself more and more. Perhaps it’s why I sometimes find it so hard to write fiction; there’s something about the purity of a journal that feels right. I feel things and they all just flood out of me. As always, I have too much feeling inside me and it has to escape; running away from the years of repression which have dogged me even before I understood what it was that they truly meant.
But now I write to understand myself better. It seems that at 29 I’m only just beginning to understand myself at all.
What is it I fundamentally love to do?
I love to use my imagination and tell stories. I love to create and express myself.
What do I fundamentally despite?
Feeling trapped. Feeling powerless. Feeling belittled. Feeling stupid.
I love to be praised. It’s why I’ve sometimes been able to be expressed as brilliant even in relatives mundane settings, I was able to use my paternal thinking and creative mind to improve and change whatever was going on.
There is a satisfaction, even in relatively mundane settings, to feel like you are making a difference. That’s another fundamental drive that I have, to change and improve the world around me wherever I am. But it walks hand in hand with the Piscean irony of my character, that I can be incredibly lazy.
I am lazy and yet I want to work incredibly hard to make change. I’m lazy and yet I’m incredibly ambitious. I have grand ideas but sometimes I feel so crippled by my own feelings and the weight of the odds that I cannot move.
It seems the secret to success is sometimes just doing. It’s not the glamorous bit and it’s not the sexy bit, it’s not the way they make it look in films or books. It’s just the…doing. The work. It’s sitting down and opening the laptop and doing it.
The bit which, although it shames me to admit it, I’m not very good at.
I love to plan, but I don’t love to…Do. And it’s holding me back, I know it. It’s always held me back. I get too lost and caught up in all the plans which become fantasies which fade into dreams. I get so lost up in them that I never do and drive and achieve.
Well, no more. It stops here. I have all the elements together at last; to make something wonderful with my life. Perhaps I’ve realised it all too late, perhaps it could never have happened any other way. But here and now I swear that I will do different.
I won’t just dream, I’ll do.
I will achieve, rather than spending untold hours flittering them away on my phone.
It feels like for years all the ingredients have been sitting right in front of me and I’ve just sat there; sat and dreamed that someone would come and make something incredible out of them, out of me.
But I know now that nobody will. And that’s OK, because it means that I have to.