Today marks the one year anniversary of my semi-friend/favorite writer passing away. She taught me the hardest lesson I ever had to learn, and she didn’t know it. Last year, I went to this celebration of life thing that was held at this theater in downtown. People were reading her poems and opening with a story of how they first met her and later became very good friends with her. They all started the same way- with a letter. I cried silently in the audience as each person talked about what they said to her. I cried, because that’s how I approached her. I wrote her a letter telling her how much her book meant to me. She wrote back and said she was going to make sure she came out to my school to see me, and she did. She tried everything in her power to become my friend, but I had always kept my distance from her. I kept my distance from her, because of how much I hated myself. I was afraid I was going to do something to screw this up-and I did. I screwed it up by not allowing her to get close to me. I lost out on what could have been an amazing friendship, because I couldn’t get over my self-hate. It’s still there, but I told myself I wouldn’t let it consume, anymore. I wouldn’t let it rob me of another chance to become friends with someone. I wouldn’t let it rob me of the chance to maybe one day become a professional writer. I just hate that I had to learn the lesson this way.
This is why last year, I had forced myself to write what I felt about her while the pain was still raw. It was physically, mentally, and emotionally draining, but I wrote this blog entry. I thought it would be a great way to let go and just put myself out there and write. Honestly, I don’t know if it was good for me or not. I just knew that it was the year I was going to take writing “seriously.” Instead, I barely wrote two entries and I didn’t even meet my goodreads reading goal of 90 books.
I guess, I don’t realize how competitive I am until I fail. It’s not like I was in a competition with my friends over who could read the most books, but goodreads does make it feel that way sometimes. Seventy-eight books isn’t a bad number, either. So I don’t know what my problem is. (My friends were the ones to remind me of that, too). It’s just hard not to compare yourself to others. “They have their shit together. Why don’t you?” is a common phrase I tell myself almost on a daily basis. I wish I could say that I’m doing a better job of not comparing myself to others, but I’m not. Especially, when it feels like the feeling of being lost should be gone by now.
For the longest time, I was feeling like I should be done with my quarter-life crisis. But then about a month ago, I saw this movie:
Long story short, it made me feel better. I also like that it was told through a woman’s perspective, too. I feel like there’s not a lot of movies about this feeling of being lost told through the eyes of a woman. It’s usually a man and his manic pixie dream girl.
Sorry for this long semi-babbling first draft that hasn’t been looked over entry. It’s 3 am, cut me some slack.
I know, I always have excuses for my grammar being crap.