Looking around, I have friends who are off increasing their professional credentials, looking to buy a house and start a family, expanding their families, going on holidays, heading to conventions overseas, moving forward (these are not things I want for myself necessarily, except the travel, but they're still our society's markers of a "successful" life, and the pressure is still there).
I am stuck. Running like mad on a wheel going nowhere. I'm frustrated and sad and just wanting to throw my hands in the air and walk away from everything.
I'm not going to, by the by. I have rent to pay and life requires fuel, so in order to have a home and eat, I'm going to have to keep my job. As for writing, well, writing is a compulsion for me. I get itchy. I start to go a little mad(der) with all these voices and stories in my head screaming for release. If I don't write, I end up in a really bad place, mentally.
But all this work for what feels like nothing has been really wearing on me of late.
The curse of an active imagination is that I dream big, and I dream big often, but it seems I lack the skill set to turn those dreams into anything more. For all the time my head is in the clouds, it feels like I'm chained firmly to the dirt, laying flat and unmoving, staring up at the birds and wondering what it might be like to be able to fly.
It's not an ideal way to live. It makes contentment nigh on impossible. Unhappiness and restlessness are default states. There are real tears over stupid shit that doesn't even matter, really.
Most of the time, it's not actually all that difficult just have fun with what I'm doing. Sometimes, though, more rarely now, to be honest, it grates on me. It eats me up. It makes me want to throw things. I know it's stupid, and that I shouldn't need to make money or gain some sort of notice to be happy with writing. And here's the thing, I don't want a tonne of money from my writing. Just enough that I could do it full time and not have to worry too much. I don't need any kind of accolade, but a few reviews might be nice. I'm not looking for fame. I just want to be able to do what I want to do.
More, I know that I am a published author, and I do have readers who follow me, looking forward to the next book. I don't know why I feel like it's not enough. It ought to be enough. It's a failing of mine, I suppose. I also suppose that it's related to my depression. We all know depression lies, and all those thoughts that I shall never succeed, that I should give up, that I'm just not good enough, that I don't deserve to be a full-time writer, etc are just not true. Probably.
Happily, I know that this mood will pass, and I will be headed back to my usual goofy, idiotic self in not too long. Equally as happily, I will be streaming tonight, off slaying orcs and trying to protect Middle Earth from within Mordor. That always helps improve my mood.
Anyway, I already feel better. Still sad, but less frustrated now. I think that maybe I just needed to vent for a little bit. Things actually aren't bad for me. I'm not actually unhappy and most of the time I'm not feeling utterly frustrated and like quitting. I'm just in a down phase at the moment. It'll pass.
You can tell I'm having a rough time because I've just, for no reason, got myself ordained by the Universal Life Church of Canada. Meh. It was free, so why not? Also, the organisation itself seems pretty cool. So I guess I'm free for pagan-leaning humanist ceremonies if you want someone to officiate.
Right, I have a manuscript to try and finish.