The Balance of Two Worlds

As a writer I feel myself caught between different realms of both reality and fiction. It doesn’t help that I’m in the more practical major of journalism when my first love is fiction writing. Then there’s also the fact that I’m always creating different stories with different people and not all of them happen to take place on Earth as we know it.

I’ve always struggled with establishing order between all of it. I always felt that if I preferred one over the other that there’d be a severe penalty to pay. But now it seems like that way of thing has been wrong. Just like when I had that negative mantra of “I’m not allowed to be happy.”

Its nice to be wrong sometimes. I’m starting to find my balance. I find myself able to traverse between the different worlds. I’m able to do what needs to be done in reality and write to my heart’s content just like all the other working writers that came before me.

I’ve been writing lot of drafts lately. It feels like the gears in my mind were stuck until now. This morning I went nuts with making the details on this story world I’ve been working on. It feels great.

Now back to reality…

I got my exam back from earlier this week. I crushed it!! I totally crushed it!! I have two incompletes recorded from spring semester, but now I have chance at making things right again. I spoke with both my professors. It’s more work put on my lap, but I can handle it. I’m not the same as I used to be. So it can be done.

I want to dive in and get back to my fiction, but right now there’s only so much I can do on an empty stomach. I need to eat something!

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The Price I’ve Paid.

One of the joys of being a neurotic depressing hermit like myself is the beauty of drowning myself in my own thoughts which means having to inevitably over think and analyze every little thing. I say that with as much fake enthusiasm as I can possibly muster. How do I further illustrate the beauty of overthinking? Imagine being stuck in the middle of desert and you are passing the time by counting every little grain of sand you come across. That’s what it’s like for me. “Analysis Paralysis”, that’s what I like to call it.

I hate it. It doesn’t help being a writer because I’m constantly second guessing myself and every idea that comes to mind. I get a light bulb which signals an idea. Then comes the usual song and dance that occurs whether I keep an idea to myself or when I make the mistake of sharing it with others…

“Oh that idea has already been done!”
“Refer to this author’s piece of work!”
“Your characters are too cookie cutter!”
“But that’s not realistic! Even for a fantasy story!”

Oh wait, here is anew one that has been on repeat lately.

“Are you trying to write the next Harry Potter or Game of Thrones? Best give up while you can.” That was from one of my roommates whom I’m pretty sure was only projecting his own limitations onto me. Easy to believe considering he has as much imagination and personality as a baked potato. Which I’m also sure reflects hisIQ level.

And here comes the kicker…

“Hey man! I’m just trying to help!”

That’s when I just want to punch someone in the face and say, “For the love of God, stop trying to help me.” Not too many people know about this story that I’m working on and I prefer to keep it that way. The ones that I’ve told haven’t tried pushing themselves onto me where as others have done exactly that. Plus I only share ideas in small dose. How small? Grains of sand small. Even with people who are writers like myself.

It’s lonely having to do this on my own. But it’s not that much different from the loneliness I’ve felt for the majority of my life. I used to have imaginary conversations and adventures all the time when I was younger. That was when my creativity was flourishing and at it’s strongest. I feel like I’ve lost vital parts of my true self when I agreed to compromise for the sake of others and tried to be more mature, more practical, and to live in the real world with real people.

I made a horrible mistake by choosing to major in journalism. I had the chance to switch my major to creative writing and I missed it. Even though I knew I wasn’t happy with the communications department and that getting out of it meant that I’d be happy. But no, I told myself that it wasn’t the mature thing to do, that I didn’t give it a fair enough chance. I am not meant to be like those other aspiring journalists. My mind is wired in a way that’s too different from them. I’ve tried to be open with the people in my classes, but in the end there’s nothing we have in common. We breathe in oxygen and eat food for survival. Comparison stops there. Plus I feel like I’m always under attack with the professors in that department. Even when I do the assignments in the most pragmatic way possible it’s never good enough or they don’t understand anything. Like I’ve written something in a completely alien language. Plus I swear to God whenever I do speak everyone always has this stupid deer in headlights look about them. Again, I’m filled with the need to punch them in the face. It’s not just at the communication department. It’s everywhere I go and every person that I meet. Then I have to hold my tongue back from saying what I really want to say…

-I’m sorry that I don’t do drugs.
-I’m sorry that I don’t drink like a frat boy.
-I’m sorry that I’m not into sports.
-I’m sorry that I play video games, watch movies, or do whatever that makes me a “hipster” in your eyes.
-I’m sorry for breathing the same air as you.
-I’m sorry that I don’t want to be like you.

Now I’m just ranting….

The point I am trying to make is…

The price I paid for trying to be mature, practical, and “normal” has cost me dearly. I feel like I’ve only been betraying myself. Nothing should come at that cost especially when your own happiness goes with it. I am not a normal person. I will never be a normal person no matter where I go or how much older I get. It’s time I make peace with that.

I believe that if I can make peace with that I will be happier, I will be more creative, and I can be freed from inhibitions placed onto me by others and from my own insecurities.

Audioslave said it best in song, “To be yourself is all that you can do”. God rest the soul of Chris Cornell, by the way.