I don’t even know how to begin this blog post. This topic has me brimming with things I want to say around the middle of the blog, but nothing around the beginning.

Okay, let me begin by saying this – I’m in a slightly worse place this week and I’m generally very confused by the state of things. When you write about human emotions and complications and drama and things, inevitably some of those themes are going to hit you in the face. As I’ve mentioned in a previous blog post, I wrote Chapter Five of Being More Social before I ever personally lost a friend, then a few months later a close friend of mine died and rereading that scene of Nicole reliving her pain hit me harder than I could have ever expected.

In the past month or so it seems like fate wanted to have a bit of fun with me. Last week someone gave me an outburst while drunk exclaiming that they hated me, also reminiscent of Being More Social Chapter 5. I’ve had to learn that my caring nature can turn into a controlling nature and that trying to help an ex-girlfriend get her life back together has turned into her needing space, sentiments similar (though not exactly, I want to emphasize) to Molly’s speech towards Aaron during the party in the last chapter. Even in the chapter I’m currently writing, one theme pops up that I’ve had to grapple with lately, and writing these themes while I myself am going through them almost seems like a mean joke. It definitely helps capture the reality of those feelings, but writing them feels like an acknowledgement that those same feelings are indeed happening to me and that they are indeed getting me down. When I’m trying to push myself away from negative feelings, writing a character going through those same negative feelings and admitting they can’t move on from it makes one feel… powerless. And I’m sick of feeling powerless in my own life. It’s going to change soon but not in a ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ way, in a ‘this event is coming soon that’s going to change everything and I don’t know if it’s positive or negative’ way.

In a way I suppose we write because we experience. I don’t know what to make of the fact that a lot of these characters are manifestations of things I will experience after I write it down. It’s like I’m the world’s suckiest psychic. It also sucks because I often write sad, intense, emotional themes and pieces. Again I say, probably the most healthy, normal piece I ever wrote involved a gangbang on a bus. How weird is that?

If I felt like an optimist right now I’d point out that in a few years supposing I’m still around I’ll be in a completely different place and these stresses and anxieties will probably be gone. The experiences may linger but only in the way that they’ll be fuel for me to write better stories from a more understanding perspective. I can only hope that this is the path I’ll end up going down. I’m discovering a lot about myself this week and it’s downright scary but that’ll mean a more interesting future, so for now, I’ll cling to that. I’ll talk to you all next week.