Please take it easy with any condemnation you might want to throw. My heart can only take so much :3
I really hope you can continue reading till the end. It will mean SO MUCH to me. Thank you!
Before writing exists in my life, since the age of 15, all I wanted was to die. It was the scariest emotion to feel. When you felt so hopeless to think ending your life is the only way.
I have and still suffering from social phobia. I couldn’t breathe properly when I’m outside. I feel like I will trip on my feet when I walk. Talking with people hurt my brain because I persevere and stay when my fight-and-flight response goes insane, trying to make me flee out of the harming situation. Acting naturally in public is out of my league when it was my aspiration for the longest time. Some days are worse than the others. From speaking smoothly to feeling like I’m endlessly chocking on my own saliva.
Salvation is an understatement when I stay at home. But loneliness of no friends accompanies. Having so much time alone to think, my dwelling mind hurt me emotionally in the worst way possible I couldn’t describe. My thoughts were deeply torturing me. But to escape my nagging thoughts, I had to go out and interact. MY WORST NIGHTMARE. This put me into a really deep depression. I found no escape.
My family couldn’t help me. Especially when I’m depressed, I tend to subconsciously keep things to myself. I communicate less. But it wasn’t really my choice that I was drowning in my own feelings. Most of the time, I had no power to control it. When it comes, it engulfs and sucked every bit of positivity I have.
Writing is what gives me a reason to want to live. After what felt like forever, I have something to be excited for.
I chose to major in English after losing confidence with the science stream while finding this course as killing a bird with one stone. Pursuing my degree while at the same time increase my writing skills seemed like the best thing I could do.
English isn’t my first language.
When I started writing, I barely read a book. I didn’t even watch English movies. All I did was indulging in YouTube and Korean Dramas, which helped very little on improving my vocabulary.
I wanted to give the best to my reader. Eventhough it’s just a fan fiction, for me it’s my masterpiece.
I put a lot of effort. I didn’t fancy reading as much, but I pushed myself to start reading more books nevertheless. Everyday that’s my mission. I need to learn more in order for me to do better.
But slowly, my motivation dissipated. The depression that’s lurking somewhere in my mind started dominating me again. My mental health kept deteriorating. It’s very gradual, but soon I lose interest in whatever I’m doing. I lost purpose like how I used to be.
Reading becomes tough. I couldn’t stop comparing my work to other successful writers. I feel really small. On occasion, I have a very strong urge to delete what I’d started. My innocent love story all of a sudden seem so damn repulsive.
But as I stare at the drafts I have staying in my computer and that I, for some reason, keep working on, it felt too wasteful to throw them away just like that.
Take a break. I tell myself that. That’s all you need. Leave for as long as you need and come back.
However, it’s not that easy. The constant pressure to continue updating my story persists. Persistent guilt grows when I don’t. I feel the obligation to update eventhough it was the last thing I want to do.
I’m not- at least I don’t think, I’m a ‘natural writer’. Although I have passion for delivering my imagination, to type and describe them in details, I found it very tedious and hard. A menial task I had to add into my day only because I couldn’t possibly post a cute scene out of nowhere.
Not sure if it’s just me, but for me, I need to construct a very long draft before getting to the semi-final product. Heck even this explanation need its exclusive draft -_-
I don’t have the skill to simply type down right then and there. I need a plan, practically.
At times when I got inspirations, my productive mind worked with me like a cascade with exciting scenes to share with you guys. But a story needs its events one after another. The fillers that I always have trouble with. Everytime I wanted to update, my indecisiveness rendered me to spend 5-8 hours on that one chapter. Adding the draft that I have to also spend time raking my brain for ideas, basically half of my day is consumed.
I overestimated my ability and pushed myself too much that I got burnt out. Worst case for me. Burn-out trigger my depression and anxiety in a split second. The moment I realized it, I was dying mentally.
It’s hard to admit that writing has taken its toll in my mental health when it used to be my impulse to survive. A sad fact that I wish isn’t true.
I have one absolute fear that haunts me daily: spiraling back to my old, suicidal self.
Even just by a strand, writing had kept me going until now. It’s a big part of my existence. Although I can say right now, I will my brain to cooperate.
Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE letting others picturing my daydream the way I had. Updating each chapter gave me that explosive burst of happiness nothing else can compare. I feel accomplished.
‘Forever’ is my baby and truthfully, I have more than 10 other stories in line which I’m more than thrilled to bring you guys along into my fluffy thoughts.
But life and health get in the way. Behind the scene, it isn’t all sunshine and rainbow.
I’m currently studying and the next months will be my first semester of second year. Unfortunately, because I didn’t collect enough points for me to be given a hostel, my friends and I have to lodge a place outside our university. My problem right now is the rent…
I struggle to find a part-time job that doesn’t require dealing too much socially. Apart from that, my family is having a financial crisis to the point I contemplate getting treatment for my anxiety.
My mom kept complaining me wasting time not doing anything at home when for me, I am constantly doing something productive. But she couldn’t seem to see it because I don’t earn one cent burrowing in my room. She isn’t amused that I spend too much time writing. That in return made me feel worse inside.
I don’t want to feel like I wasted my time doing a useless hobby but sadly, my current pondering is exactly that. I want to prove to her that writing isn’t time-wasting like she and my brother claimed to be.
I’ve established my first story on Asianfanfic and wanted very much to stay here if only it gives me the opportunity to make a little living…
Other than the technical difficulties I had on this platform when posting above 4k words, my main reason is that this platform can’t provide ‘income’.
I decided to try posting on Wattpad after knowing about the Wattpad Feature that can actually help writers earn money by doing the thing they are passionate about. But it’s limited. Only those who are recognized and have thousands to millions of view and win Watty Awards are given the privileged of having ads added to their chapters and thus the fund. But considering my mediocre work, the possibility for me to get the money is almost IMPOSSIBLE.
I know if I wait for that to maybe happen, I would have finished my study by the time it does.
That’s how I come to a conclusion, that maybe, I can get a tiny little donation so my story isn’t deemed a piece of shit.
I can’t describe my appreciation if you guys, my lovely readers who I think about everyday through the times when all I wanted was to take down this baby of mine, could donate even a dollar! >.<
I promise you it will make me feel more vitalize to fight and COMPLETE it because I tell you… it’s long. I don’t know how it gets to that, but… yeah…. It happens :3
Thank you for taking your time to read!