It’s 3:30 a.m. Another night of being too itchy to sleep… it could also be the prednisone I am now taking that is making it impossible for my mind to switch off. If nothing else, I know now that I can function very well, thankyouverymuch, on very little sleep, with the right drugs.
I can totally see how people get addicted to prescription meds. As one of my favorite bloggers, Jen Mann of People I Want To Punch In The Throat frequently laments, it’s quite the well kept secret. Not sleeping well? Pop a pill! It will give you energy! Out of focus? Take this! It will keep your mind on track! Libido need a kick in the pants? Try this new medication! Your partner won’t know what hit them!
Anyway, this post wasn’t intended to be idle chat about the new steroids I’m taking in lieu of my anti-anxiety meds. This post is in response to the creeping doubt I’ve been feeling lately.
I know recently I said I was saying Fuck You to my biggest hater. But it’s far easier said than done.
I look around me, and surrounded by so many people who know what they’re doing. They have a voice, they have a plan, and they know what they need, and want, to do to make their goals a reality. But sometimes it just feels like my world is too crowded by talent. Too full of so many people saying the same things in vastly different ways, how on earth could there ever be room for my opinion, my way of saying things, too?
And then there are the times that I do venture out, put myself out there, in places aside from this little blog and my meager facebook fan page, and I am rejected. They say it’s not because of my work, but because it’s just not a good fit. My voice doesn’t quite jive.
I need to find my niche. Is there a “Nothing In Particular” niche out there for writers and creative hopefuls?
This whole train of thought was brought on by this graphic from YourTango’s Facebook page:
I just want to be me, and be accepted, and celebrated for it. And there are days, more often than not, that I think to myself, DAMN IT, Jessica, get your shit together. No one wants to high five you for thinking about writing, you have to actually do it. There are no awards for people who meant to do great things.
I want to be my weird, makeup inept, tattoo obsessed, pirate loving, purple haired self, and throw caution to the wind and just put myself out there.
What the fuck is holding me back?