A Broken Record

shield-492996_960_7202016 has kicked my ass, and judging from all the memes floating around, I’m not the only one who can say this. Thanks to an illness in the family, my summer was taken over by nights on uncomfortable hospital couches and days full of anxiety attacks and an over abundance of stress.

It sucked.

Things have finally settled down, everything has returned to normal, and I’m ready to climb back on the horse…only now my insecurities are starting to buzz around my head like the pests they are. Did I forget how to write? Will anyone like this idea? Is the plot good enough? What the hell are words?

I’m lucky to have an amazing support system who never fail to pick me up when I start to doubt myself, but after running to them over and over again with the same fears and insecurities, I can’t help but feel like a burden, like a broken record. Why won’t someone just pick me up and smash me already?

(Please don’t; I’m fragile.)

I feel rusty and out of practice. I feel distracted when I’m finally able to sit down and write, and I feel like nothing I write is good enough when I do manage to bust out a few measly words. I’ve been here before, never to this degree, but I’ve got to learn to cut myself some slack. I’m harder on myself than anyone else, I know that, and I should’ve figured out how to be kinder to myself years ago.

But I didn’t, and I probably won’t learn it any time soon, which means I’m stuck in an endless loop of feeling awesome about my writing before plunging into a pit of self-doubt.

I’m just glad I’m good at clawing my way out.

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