Depression and self-doubt are my two greatest struggles as a writer.
Reading one my favorite author’s blogs, I realized that I spent more time with depression and its friend self-doubt than I have spent working on the craft of writing or any of my other passions.
It weights on me, holds me down and keeps me from working on my dreams. It keeps me running in the rat race and not breaking the glass that keeps me contained.
My birthday was a joyous. Friends and family came to celebrate as well as laugh and sing. Less than a week later, I am struggling to right myself in a sea of emotions. I want so much to write. To write and write until I finish another book and then another has been published.
Somewhere in there, I would have a family of my own and not be in debt. There would also be a garden and a library where I can read, nap and repeat to my heart’s content.
At 38, I fear that I am running out of time. Depression and self-doubt are wearing me down.
I feel my feet dragging through my life. Depression telling me that I am not worthy. Self-doubt pointing out ever failure to confirm every whisper that Depression utters into my soul.
Words identify us. Words and the perception that they create define us.
The word that defined me and still defines me is survivor. No matter what is that comes at me, I survive. There is comfort in that and there is a lot of fear. Fear that I will never learn to live another way and fear that this is the only life meant for me.
I am not trying to be dramatic that is just what Depression and Self-doubt do to me at time.
In the end, what makes me a survivor always wins out. The ability to keep going and not to stop. Not to stop trying to do more than survive and to keep writing. The next book will come.