Doing Anything

rant because my back hurts. never reread always spur of the moment

It’s sort of difficult to do anything when you’re self conscious, right?

It’s hard to pursue the things that you love, it’s hard to accept compliments or believe that you are capable of accomplishing things. For me it’s even been excruciating to keep up with my religion.

I love words a ton. I say I want to be a scriptwriter. Or something similar, right? I’ve been told to my face that I could. My teacher at the beginning of last school year wrote that she could see me writing scripts. I never mentioned that passion to her and before she knew me she said she thinks I’m a writer. 

But I will never believe it. Aren’t you sometimes hyper aware that there is better? Im 14 but I try to engage with literature when I can. I know good. I’ve seen good and It like physically hurts when I can’t replicate it, so now writing and reading which are supposed to be some sort of sanctuary are entirely painful. 

And it’s not only doubting my abilities that makes everything a task. It’s like when I sit down to read or write I can feel every inch of my body. I notice I’m slouching and I think about the ramrod posture of my favorite authors. The fat on my arms, my stomach, my neck my chin, unrelated but I convince myself they are indicative of a worthless writer, a worthless person.

It’s exhausting to be conscious of everything you are and are not. I can’t even pray alone in my room without pulling back my skin or like imagining what my side profile looks like. You think God cares about that? Absolutely not!

I’m tired of minding myself like this. I care so much about myself that I really don’t care at all about me. I just want to be imperfect and not care. 

ahhh