Sunday, November 4, 2012

This isn't worth reading.

Though I could write a comparatively lighthearted post about what I would do during a zombie apocalypse, I've felt the need to vent lately, particularly about my fears, so here goes a decidedly less than happy post.

While my greatest fear is more an amalgamation of multiple fears, I would say the greatest one of all would be not making anything significant out of myself. After all, there's not much security in having your desired profession be a novelist. I could fall back on becoming a psychiatrist or something similar, given my interest in psychology, and while that would be cool, I know that my deepest passion lies in writing, and what terrifies me more than anything is not being able to do what I love and make a living off of it.

I'm not entirely sure how to phrase it without delving into nightmarish musings on what might lay in my future, but I'm just scared that I'm going to end up crying and drinking in front of my computer. I'm scared that no one will like my writing, no one will care about it, and I won't be able to make an impact with it. I really want to share my thoughts and ideas with the world, but I'm nervous that the world won't care and I'll have to resign myself to doing something I'm less passionate about. Better to make decent money doing something involving psychology as opposed to rotting in miserable poverty as a writer, I guess.

I just want to make something out of myself, and hopefully have my words make an impact, even if it's just a thumbprint that soon fades away. I'm so scared of shouting my ideas out into an empty and uncaring abyss only to have to swallow them back down.

This has been a needlessly melodramatic and idiotic post. I'm just a scared little girl. Sorry for wasting your time.

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