I’m in a group on Facebook that is chock full of NaNoWriMo writers. One of these writers posted a picture yesterday and asked what everyone thought of when they saw it. The array of answers didn’t surprise me, but my own answer did.
Let me explain. When I see this picture, I envision danger. I envision terrifying horrors awaiting the one who makes the mistake of walking through that door. Death, pain, horrendous torture await the person who next walks through that door.
That says a great deal about my mental state, doesn’t it? I have this horrid problem: I not only feel irrational things, worry about things that shouldn’t be worried about, and fear things I shouldn’t fear; but I also know that I shouldn’t feel, worry, and feel those things. I know it is all in my own head. I know that it is all irrational, and should stop.
And yet, I can not stop. I have tried. I’ve pretended to be stronger than I am, I’ve tried laughing through it. I’ve tried putting a smile on my face and pretending that everything is just fine. I suffered for it, and so many have no clue how messed up I truly am.
Is this why I feel so afraid of an open door? Perhaps. I know that when I look at that picture I should see hope. I should see new opportunities, I should see the promise of something greater and brighter than I have now. And yet my fears take hold of me and project them onto what I see.
Such is the nature of the beast, I guess. Depression, PTSD, social anxiety all coupled with a mild agoraphobia; I’m one hot mess. Is this why I have yet to finish a story in time to submit it? Perhaps. That fear of what will happen should the best happen freezes me. What will be expected of me if it gets accepted? I will most certainly need to step up my networking. I will need to push myself out there and into the public eyes.
Publishing will make myself more accessible to others. I will be judged, and I most certainly will be criticized to no end. I’ve heard the horror stories. The cruel reviews, the harassment, the outright bullying and trolling. The worst side of the best side scares me to pieces. I admit it freely.
Yet, I am still attempting it. I am battling through my demons. I am owning my fears and worries, and beating them down with a spike tipped whip. Will I still have fears and worries? Of course I will. But, with time, I hope to have those bastards chained and caged. I refuse to be bested by those beasts.
As terrifying as they may be, I will grow to be even more terrifying than them. Perhaps, then, I’ll see hope in that doorway. Perhaps, just maybe, I will see new opportunities and fulfillment of my dreams.
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