When Too Nervous To Write
2024-09-08
I have countless ideas I want to share, some are written down and even completed, and yet even with a notebook full of short stories I've written, writing prompts, and a clipboard with my essay right next to me, I am facing “writer's block,” also known to me as anxiety.
So I grabbed a cig, licked the end, stuck some keef on, started some tunes (embedded at the end), and here we are.
Writing on paper helps me get my thoughts out in a way I can engage with what I'm writing a lot more smoothly. Different mediums, different experiences. Chronic pain makes transcribing from journal to typing an ordeal. Writing by hand does so, too. And the fact I had to lazily smoke start is telling. Even though writing is a large part of how I define myself, nearly every avenue to do so physically hurts me.
In middle school, I remember sitting on the bus next to my friend and he watched over my shoulder as I just... wrote a story. In a crappy notebook, on a stinky bus, without even a shred of anxiety or self-consciousness. Given the platform, not many people will read this (Hi to those who are!) so self-consciousness ought not be a concern, and yet, knowing that, I oddly feel more self-conscious. Do I feel the need to “prove” myself as a writer? Demonstrate that my work is “worth reading?” It must be part of it. Writing is also a form of honesty, and anxiety comes with honesty if you expect to be disliked. Given the, uh, 20+ years of abusive hellholes and people I've recently escaped, expecting to be disliked makes sense, too.
How did middle school me manage their confidence? What urged them to write and write and write, nonstop? What encouraged their weird Avatar: The Last Airbender/Mario & Luigi RPG fanfics they wrote for free-write essays in their English classes?
There was magic in the air on the bus that sweaty afternoon. Rural highway wind rushed inside open windows. It made my hair a tangled mess. I tightened the strap on my hat and slapped it on to help tame the storm. My friend inched closer as I picked my notebook up again. Electricity sparked between us and I knew he could feel it, too, with every word I scribbled down. Life replaced our blood and our hearts sent that all throughout our bodies, so he could keep watching, and I could keep writing.
As a kid, I was obsessed with Kingdom Hearts. I'm still obsessed now. Anyone who has played the games knows the line that defines Sora, the protagonist, to his very core. “My friends are my power!” Just writing that line makes me want to cry. Leaning on others is an important part of what makes us human. Allowing others to lean on you is, too. Sora's pretty good at that, but in recent games, he's seems to have forgotten his friends are there to be there for him. An adage from the series that I don't think sees enough light of day is a similar line from Ventus, a protagonist from Birth By Sleep. “My friends are my power, and I'm theirs!” Writing is communication, a form of exchange. Whether it's fiction, poetry, an essay, or something else, your words reach out into the world for others, or they reach out to the past for you, fromyou. I knew in middle school where I drew my power, and Ventus reminds me where else I can draw from, too. I can ask friends to help me fix speech to text programs, I can share my art with them, and I can take breaks when I don’t feel well (note to my future self...since I needed to, but did not, take a break. orz)
One of my favorite quotes by honorary Rabbi Hillel is, “If I am only for others, then who will be for me? And if I am only for myself, then what am I? And if not now, when?” When will we remember the power and intense love that comes from community? When will I remember? And have any of us truly forgotten?
“Don't be afraid. And don't forget. You are the one who will open the door to light.”