A Maelstrom of Feelings and Thoughts · 11:20pm May 5th, 2023
I’ve been thinking a lot, lately.
It’s hard to find the time to sit down and think.
It always feels like you should be doing something, doesn’t it?
Getting to work.
Hitting the gym.
Outlining this.
Writing that.
Doing and doing.
Even mediation is an act to accomplish.
But when was the last time you sat down and allowed yourself to do nothing? Where you were not troubled by guilt for putting it off? Do you desinagte time to float about in your bed/couch? Where the only goal is to have no goal at all?
I’ve been between places and couches and beds due to the renovations needed at my new place. This means I’m stuck between places, floated, until the work is done and I can settle into a place of my own. But during this, time has gone slower, and life has been different.
I’m still in the grind, but because I’m around new areas and people I have not seen in a while, life seems to… exist a bit more. It’s no longer a matter of keeping to myself and silently hitting my goals. I’m interacting with family that I’ve usually only exchanged a few messages with.
And I’ve had some time to think as well.
There’s probably not a point to this blog.
But feel free to tag along for the rambles.
It’s funny how, when you start off as a writer, your only goal is to become immersed in the story you wanted to read. I got into both this fandom and reading becuase of lovely stories that seemed to play a special trick on me. For whatever reason, I was addicted to stories where Spike ran away, and his friends chased after him.
But there were only a certain amount and types to that kind of story, and so, I found myself in the bind of having to write one myself. The goal was not views or comments or for it to be well-written. All that mattered was creating the story that I wanted to read.
I could have done a million other things during that time, like play video games, go achievement hunting, hang out with friends, or X and Y and Z. But I instead choose to write because I enjoyed the story of Spike, after running away, coming back years later disguised as a different dragon.
What was my goal then? To make sure I probably mined out the concept? That I fufilled the premise to the fullest? That it was organized in such a way for maxium impact? No. I simply wanted to live in the world of that story, and so long as I wrote it, it became possible.
New writers sometimes envy experience writers for their skills. But the problem is that, as an experinced writer, you are limited in what you write. You cannot write freely or a your please because your ‘senses’ start to tickle. You don’t write for pleasure of it.
As a new writer, you don’t have to worry about style or skill, about narrative decisons or the million chocies your shift through in each coming paragrapsh. Instead, you are bound by no rules or sense of ‘qauility’.
You write for the sake of writing.
Even if the results are poor or not as well as they could have been, you still had the freedom to write as you please. Experienced writers can maybe do this. But they must turn a lot of things off. And sometimes, they cannot write freely even if they wish.
But I always figured, as a kid, that in the end, things work themselves out. I was led by a notion that everyone dies—but they would have resolved their life’s central problem before it happened. That made death easier, I guess. When you did what you felt like you were here to do.
But I like at Dark Link and The Myth and RarityEQM and Level Dasher… and I realize that, sometimes, nothing comes before death. You do not escape the darkness of the night shift or eventually come to find a better life. Sometimes, the terribleness just goes on, and then you die.
What of me? What did I want of this life?
As a kid… my goal was to be a hero. I was raised on Legend of Zelda and Link was my basis of being. Of course, I was too small and cowardly to be a hero, and as I grew up, I realized the concept of hero and princess doesn’t really exist in this world.
Nothing else really latched out at me besides the fun I had with friends and family. I was always a little too gratful to be a part of any given friend group. I have a bad history of giving too much to people to try and keep them as my friend.
I don’t know what created this feeling. I have a horrible case of fears of abandonment. I don’t believe, inherently, that I can bring value to other people. Or, at least, not as much value as they give me. I try to ‘act’ like bigger or more to compesate from this, but even after my greater ‘bits’, I still don’t feel like I compare to those around me.
I can see and experience and believe in what makes others great. They have these innate beings that are fun and perfect to be around. They are valued in simply existing. They don’t have to do a thing more. I, however, don’t feel like I have that.
I feel like I could drop dead and disappear and the world would not notice. I feel like people would either be better off or no different without me. My impact, my uiltity, is found only in what I can do. So I do a lot to make up for that which is missing inside of me.
Perhaps I need to be loved to fill that hole.
But I don’t believe that will ever be the case.
I just am what I am, doing what I can, moving forward the best I can. I know once my feet stumble and I fall, that the snow will pass over and cover me, and I will be part of the world no longer. And I will have left nothing behind me as anything significant still lays ahead.
Will a finally become a better person—or even a person in general?
Will I finally become a proper writer, someone who knows what they are doing when it comes to words?
What did I think would happen when I reached this point in my life?
I thought I would be writing, drawing, filming and creating, going on to do good and recginzeable work. My friends and family would regonicze me for something. But I know I am a fraud when it comes to most things. I am not a proper writer or person. And all I have done for the last ten years is faff at the mouth and keyboard.
What is my goal from here? What do I do going forward?
All I can do is write and exist, hoping that, in keeping on with the two, that something better comes. I gave up chasing views for a while, and now, I’ve been writing in isolation for the last two years.
I write for myself, and the few who read my works, which will become forgotten.
I am nothing, typing at a desk before a void, which swallows the words that I write, never being filled. Where there ever be a story that does the trick? A sequence of words that unlocks the secrets to life? Will ever write the story that fulfills me?
Will I write something that causes me to break into the greater world?
I don’t think so.
I’m just someone who writes, and despite my best attempts, I can only write the way I’ve been doing all my life. I am stuck like this and as this person. No matter the text, no matter the changes, underneath it all, I am the same.
I cannot go beyond myself. I cannot be different. I am unable to be like those who I admire.
Never could I be considered remarkable.
But all of this is vain and nearly narcissistic.
In the end, you must accept yourself, and improve where able.
Trying hard is never worthwhile.
But doing your best is commendable.
Sorry for the weird blog.
Until next time.
~ Yr. Pal, B
You have made people smile and I think that is a pretty good thing.
Feels good to have you here still even if its only blog post
5726669 This
B, you were a pretty big part of why I loved this fandom so damn much. Your and the Boys' shenanigans were always something to look forward to, and they seriously helped me through each passing day at a time when my life outside of this virtual haven was sorely wanting. You helped me, without even being aware of it, by making me laugh and bringing me joy I couldn't find anywhere else.
And even though I'm at a different place now, I'll never forget those days of happiness, and I'll forever be grateful for them.
Don't.