ON WRITING – Questioning the Legitimacy of My Dream of Becoming a Writer

Reflection from June 17, 2011 @ 29 Years Old 


Well here I am, writing again, at home not working on the website, again.  I decided for just this week though, that I don’t care.  It’s my last week of the decade, the last week of the decade that will come to be known all too well in the next!  And I can’t wait!

I emailed Chris and Gabrielle just now, and asked them what they thought about whether a dream really could come true, if someone where capable and persistent and motivated, and if they found a little luck in timing and opportunity.  I anxiously await their responses.  I need to know they believe it’s possible.  I believe it’s possible, but people can make themselves believe a lot of things are possible when the circumstances just don’t actually warrant it.  I need to know that they believe in me, so that I have support, and so that when I waiver and become unsure, I can lean on their faith to make it through.

So, I called my psychologist today to see if he would read my two random journal entries I picked out.  I told him together it was about 14 pages and he was like, “well…when did you want me to read it by?”.  And I said I was hoping he could read it so that we could discuss it on Tuesday during my appointment, and he was like, “that might be hard because it’s almost the weekend and we have visitors” and whatnot.  Which is totally fine because if one of our clients called and wanted something done over the weekend that wasn’t necessary, I would do a total no way!  So I understand completely.

But then I was like, “well, maybe you could read it first during our appointment, and then we can talk about it,” and he was all, “you want me to spend your appointment reading 14 pages of writing while you sit there and watch me?”.  And I was like “ha ha I guess not,” but now that I’ve thought about it, that’s exactly what I am going to have him do.  Except I will sit in the waiting room while he reads, and give him 5-10 minutes to formulate his thoughts.  And then I will want an answer.  And if he wants to marinate it all then he can do that for the next appointment, but I need to hear his initial reactions, and I need to hear them the day after my birthday.  There’s no time to waste now.

Now, to be entirely honest, I’m actually quite horrified to see his reaction.  I just have a feeling it’s not going to be good, maybe because he’s a conservative republican or for whatever reason, I just have this bad feeling about it.  But I’m also scared, so that could be what’s leading to that fear and negativity.

It’s just so strange because those two entries, out of hundreds, maybe close to a thousand, I just think are the most beautiful things I’ve ever read.  I honestly, from the bottom of my heart, with all of my being and on the lives of my unborn children swear, that I feel that is true.  And there’s so many more too!  There’s so much beauty in there, it’s almost crippling.  And so too, is my fear that others won’t see it.  Or almost, in any case.  Almost.

What is in a word, my friend?  What can we possibly hope to cultivate with a word?  Or a string of words, or a million of them put together?  What can we hope for?  What are the possibilities?

There is so much beauty in this world.  But what is beauty, but in the eye of the beholder?  So, does it necessarily equate that what I believe to be beautiful, others will to?  I do, in fact – I believe that to be the case.  Not with all people, no.  But there are some, and many of them who will find in my writing also, the same impenetrable beauty I see shining through.  I cannot be the only one.  I simply refuse to believe that I am.

Alarms are going off in my head right now, telling me not to move forward.  I’m terrified to hear what other people have to say about my writing, but I will move forward anyway.  I am going to do this.  I am going to make it happen.  Please, watch me as I do so.  Watch me move forward, past the fear, into something I can call my own.  Into the place I have for so long been searching for.  I can see it in my mind.  It is already there.  It’s just a matter of time now, until it’s here to share.


What am I doing?  I think that is mania you see there, and I think I’m coming down now.  God, it’s so bizarre, I can’t even believe this is happening.  Gabrielle called to talk and I was completely embarrassed I had even written her that question about dreams coming true.  I mean, who talks like that?  Obviously me I guess.  And then Christopher called and I was too embarrassed to even pick up the phone.  This is not good.  This is not good at all.  I’m rhyming.  This is not good stuff.

I don’t know what I’ve been thinking!  I’ll tell you, that my dream is going to come true, that a book agent would find me and match me up with a publisher who would pay me an advance to finish my book in two months, that I wouldn’t have to work in the meantime, all the talk shows I would be on to promote the book, how everyone will love me, how beautiful I am, and then how we’re going to split up the assets…

This is not good at all.  This is bad.

I don’t know what to do.  It feels good to feel, but I so quickly loose touch with reality.  Or do I?  See shit, I can’t even tell.  I’m pretty sure I am though, unless that’s what happens to people who are artistically talented, in which case it still could be a loss of touch with reality, I guess just a more justifiable one?  I mean, for art and all.  F@#k.

I feel like I am deflating.  I just realized I stopped writing not just in 2010, but all the while during my relationship with Cooper.  I don’t know what’s going on.  Was that happiness and now I’m changing my meds around (per my doctor though, well…for the mood stabilizers anyways) and I’m about to mess all that up, to lose all of this stability, for a dream…?

But then, what about “what if it doesn’t come true”?  Am I supposed to be okay with losing touch with reality a little bit, just enough so that I can follow my dream?  What if I do fail?  Shit.

And here it comes.  Here comes the doubt.  Gabrielle wasn’t very convincing in her answer to my dreams question.  I mean, she answered how I hoped she would, but now I’m paranoid that she thinks I’m acting weird.  But I guess that’s because I’m pretty sure I am acting weird.

We’ll see how it goes tonight with Cooper.  He’s taking me out to dinner at M and I’m really excited to go there, but for some reason I don’t really feel like going right this instant.  I have to go and get ready now.  I can’t wait to see Coop.  I hope he is in a good mood.  I hope he’s happy to see me and gives me a hug.  I don’t know that it will happen, but I’m hoping for it.  Sometimes it does.  I mean, I think he’s usually always happy to see me, even if he doesn’t say it every day or every time he sees me obviously.  That might be a little much.  I like when he gives me hugs when he gets home.  I feel like crying.

I have no happy ending.  Granted I was only looking sporadically through the end of my old journals and my less inspired, more recent ones.  But I’m missing the whole Cooper section and I don’t know why.

I don’t know what’s going on.  I think I’ve been thinking too much.  I hope no one ever reads this.  I hope my psychologist didn’t think I was totally acting strange today.  He knows I lowered my mood stabilizer (but per my psychiatrists direction, I promise you).  I’ll have to be sure to act very…very stable, when I see him Tuesday.  No crying if he doesn’t want to read my writing, or if he does or does not like it.  No acting weird.

Oh my god.  I think I don’t want to stop this.  I know what it is, and I don’t want to stop it.  It’s not going to lead to a happy ending Kyrie.  It’s going to lead to a lonely one.  You will be alone.  Stop it now.


How in the world am I going to help anyone if I don’t have a happy ending?

6 thoughts on “ON WRITING – Questioning the Legitimacy of My Dream of Becoming a Writer


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