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Nr. 59

I’ve been sitting here for 43 minutes trying to start today’s post. Every first sentence sounded awkward and defeated to me. Not worth uttering. I’ve been wondering my whole life if creativity was the right path for me. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I’ve intellectually romanticized the idea rather than gone at it from a natural fluidity. Maybe my refusal to give up is rooted in pride rather than sensibility. Realizing I’m not cut out for something is hard to admit when that something has helped define who I am today. It’s basically about losing my whole identity. My only alternative is to fall in line; I conform; I live. 

Maybe today is weighing extra heavy and tomorrow I’ll see it differently again, but the repetitive pattern of self doubt has grown stronger the last 5 years or so. That’s irrefutably damaging and holds an iron grip on my optimistic side. 

I’ve been told I’m creative ever since I was a small child. I was told I’m intelligent, kind, athletically apt and pretty. But I don’t feel any of it. I’ve certainly taken all measurements to disprove every single one of those adjectives. 


If I do fall to conformity, I will most likely end this blog and social media as a whole. I’ll find a normal job and a small apartment and forget about who I used to be, or at least how that person wanted to be. It’s not sadness I feel, but survival. I will of course let this dwell for a while before making a decision. I need to be certain I am completely lucid and rational about it. 

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