I've always felt so secure in my future. For so long know I've settled into my dream, I've grown used to its comforting promise, that whether or not I succeed or fail I will have tried my best.
But it's hard to succeed or fail when you don't know what you're supposed to be succeeding or failing at. You were born to be a writer, I'd always told myself. There's only one way you can make a difference and help people, and that's through pouring your heart out onto a page and hoping it'll make somebody's day a little brighter. Recently, though, that little voice has fallen to a whisper and I constantly find myself with only a tiny spark in my mind, where a flame once was. Does it really matter? Does anything I'm doing matter? I can't help but lost sight of the road ahead of me when all I see is my daily routine crushing my creativity. I used to fine comfort in the normality of it all. When I knew exactly what to expect out of my day, even if it was the promise of sorrow, it made me less anxious and more secure. Maybe that's one of the reasons I couldn't force myself the stop being depressed: because at least I knew to expect the tears, when throwing myself into the world with a smile could have had an outrageously unfamiliar outcome. It's just really hard. I find myself wondering if I'll feel bad again, and if I do, will I be able to pull myself back out. All I can do is remind myself, Remind myself of that little girl and all of her journals filled with fairytales written in glitter gel pen. She wouldn't want me to give up on her dreams. She would want me to hold my chin high work myself into the ground if that's what it took to be successful. Of course it matters. Maybe it doesn't matter to millions of people, maybe my novels won't fly off shelves, maybe I'll never get a New York's Best Seller sticker on a front cover. It matters to me. That's what's important. It's my dream, it's what I want. I need to stop being comfortable with it. All I want is a single smile from someone, maybe from a lonely teenager like I used to be, maybe from the mother whose child struggles depression. That would make it all worth it. And by god, that's what I'm going to get. ~Margo xx
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December 2019
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