Devouring Wolf
Mystagogue
This post was something that was very difficult for me to write because its such a personal matter and here's a thanks in advance to anyone who actually manages to read through all my self-pitying melodrama.
Five years ago my life fell apart. I learned some very harsh truths that year and I channeled all my feelings of anger, betrayal, and loneliness into writing. I've been trying to write the same story ever since.
After I started it, my life continued to take turns for the worse. I gave up on living and started down a path of self-destruction. There were times when I didn't want to be alive anymore and I tried to think of things worth living for. I'd like to say I thought of my friends or family, but the truth is at the time my mind had made them enemies and I was so disconnected I didn't care for anyone. The thing that kept me alive was my story. It was something I knew I had to tell. I knew if I died it would be gone from the world. Finishing it was the goal that gave my life meaning.
For five years I have been writing and rewriting the first third of my story. Part of it is because I'm a perfectionist. This story is my masterpiece and I want it to be great. I know my first draft will be bad and that revision is what will make it shine, but when writing my masterpiece I feel self-imposed pressure to get it perfect. For me there is no "the best that I can be" there is only "the best" and "not good enough". Usually when I am writing I don't worry so much about it. I feel free to fail. But with my masterpiece I know it should be great and when its not I can't stand it.
But more than that I am afraid to finish it. My depression gets better and worse, but it never goes away. The drive to finish this story saved me from myself. If I finish it, what then? I'm terrified I'll just give up on life once the only thing I've ever felt I had to contribute to the world is complete. What if I finish it and like everything else I've accomplished, the victory feels hollow?
In five years, my passion for this story hasn't wavered. I've never felt so passionate about anything else I've tried to write before it. But this story's been through hell and back with me. Is it just too close to my heart for me to be part with it?
And if that's the case, what am I supposed to do? I want to keep writing, but this is the only story I love, more than any other. Thinking about writing anything else is hard because it pails in comparison to this. Should I just try to write a novel I just like rather than love? I wouldn't be afraid of being bad then or of finishing it, but at the same time it wouldn't be the great masterpiece I know I have in me.
Five years ago my life fell apart. I learned some very harsh truths that year and I channeled all my feelings of anger, betrayal, and loneliness into writing. I've been trying to write the same story ever since.
After I started it, my life continued to take turns for the worse. I gave up on living and started down a path of self-destruction. There were times when I didn't want to be alive anymore and I tried to think of things worth living for. I'd like to say I thought of my friends or family, but the truth is at the time my mind had made them enemies and I was so disconnected I didn't care for anyone. The thing that kept me alive was my story. It was something I knew I had to tell. I knew if I died it would be gone from the world. Finishing it was the goal that gave my life meaning.
For five years I have been writing and rewriting the first third of my story. Part of it is because I'm a perfectionist. This story is my masterpiece and I want it to be great. I know my first draft will be bad and that revision is what will make it shine, but when writing my masterpiece I feel self-imposed pressure to get it perfect. For me there is no "the best that I can be" there is only "the best" and "not good enough". Usually when I am writing I don't worry so much about it. I feel free to fail. But with my masterpiece I know it should be great and when its not I can't stand it.
But more than that I am afraid to finish it. My depression gets better and worse, but it never goes away. The drive to finish this story saved me from myself. If I finish it, what then? I'm terrified I'll just give up on life once the only thing I've ever felt I had to contribute to the world is complete. What if I finish it and like everything else I've accomplished, the victory feels hollow?
In five years, my passion for this story hasn't wavered. I've never felt so passionate about anything else I've tried to write before it. But this story's been through hell and back with me. Is it just too close to my heart for me to be part with it?
And if that's the case, what am I supposed to do? I want to keep writing, but this is the only story I love, more than any other. Thinking about writing anything else is hard because it pails in comparison to this. Should I just try to write a novel I just like rather than love? I wouldn't be afraid of being bad then or of finishing it, but at the same time it wouldn't be the great masterpiece I know I have in me.