Chasm

It's difficult, stepping out of the comfort zone of your notebook and pen and trying out the website you keep seeing ads for on Instagram. I've been fine with keeping my thoughts private with no one even knowing I write anything, so why did I decide to do this? Maybe I'm looking for approval. Maybe it's for the recognition. Maybe I'm looking for someone to criticize me. Whatever it is, it seems to be subconscious. Taking my feelings and letting them flow right through me onto the page was a release for me. Typing them onto a website should be stress inducing, right? It seems to be giving me more of a release than ever. There's a fine line between the privacy of my notebook and releasing these pages into the internet. After all, what really are the odds that someone I know runs into these? What are the odds that they'll even tell me about it if they do? Not very likely. The only people reading these words are complete strangers, right? So is there really a difference between writing all of this in a notebook versus typing it up on here? I guess experience will tell. After all, having only one story published, I don’t know much at all, do I?

I think the hardest part about writing isn't even the courage to put it out, but choosing the right words to express yourself. That's another difference between paper and computer. When the ink flows from my pen and stains the page, it's done. I can't take it back. Typing anything, there's always the temptation of the back button. It's very easy to just "command A, delete" everything. But it's terrifying. So easy to erase every trace, but at what cost? Do I want to let these people see what I have to say? Or maybe I liked the idea of having my thoughts run around in my head, finding an outlet in the pen and staying there. But there's something so satisfying about knowing that complete strangers are reading the works that come out of your moods, whether I’m writing a story because I’m upset, because something made me happy, excited, or if I’m simply procrastinating on everything else I have to do. That’s a conversation for another time.

Either way, why do I think it’s such a release to have someone else read this? I can’t really answer that. I want people’s opinions, but I’m so afraid of them at the same time. I want to get better so I can put my own thoughts into better words. To do that, I need to vocalize. Well, not really. I’m typing, and I think speaking is a ways away.

I’ve always thought speaking was difficult too. For some reason, before I decide to have a conversation with someone, everything that could possibly go wrong with it runs through my head. Everything that I’m afraid of flashes by so quickly that I can’t even speak. I’m too intimidated by the other person’s response, but I’m so curious at the same time. It’s such a paradox. An endless circle that erodes into silence. My final decision usually ends up being to not say anything at all. I’ve been fine with that for a while. I’d gotten used to it. Usually, talking got me nowhere anyway, so why speak at all? What’s the point when I already know how the conversation will end? But that’s another piece of the paradox. I don’t know how it ends. That’s just my fears justifying themselves, solidifying until I can’t see past them. Maybe I just haven’t found the right person to talk to. I’ll start with writing and see where that goes. Maybe speaking won’t be so far away anymore.