Writer's curse.

I haven't written in awhile, in case you haven't noticed. Which you probably haven't, because anyone who's been a regular follower of my blog has probably died, or left long ago, because it's been like what, three weeks? I don't even know. For-fucking-ever.

I have identified myself as a writer for a long time. I have the Chinese symbols for "writer" on the bridge of my right foot, so clearly it must be true. Also, I was 18 and retarded. But the curse of being a writer, or at least for me, is the crippling insecurity I feel every time I write something -- even on "my" blog, a place where I'm in charge, and if you don't like it, whatever, I can delete comments, I can disregard, I can basically call the shots. I am terrified of feedback. When I wrote for student publications, I was absolutely stone-cold-petrified of conflicting feedback.

There's a reason for it, though. When I was in college I made a really stupid, though very large (in the context of the time), journalistic mistake. The specifics don't matter, if you know the story you know, if you don't and really want to know, I can tell you, but the end result of it was the worst hate mail I have ever received. It got to the point that I was making my friends check and screen my email for me because if I read anymore of it, I was quite possibly going to kill myself. I'm not being dramatic. It was that bad.

So even now, well over four years later, I approach writing like a beaten dog who has an inexplicable unconditional love for its master. I love writing. It's what I feel like I am destined to do; in what capacity, I don't know yet, but it is what I feel happiest doing. But as such, I am constantly filled with doubt, loathing, self-questioning, and dread. I never think my stuff is good enough. Ever. I've mentioned it on here before and I swear I'm not approaching this like a 100 lb. teenage girl saying she's fat in search of contrary remarks -- I just really don't think I'm good anymore.

Was I ever "good"? Sometimes, I believe I was. I've been out of the "game" so long. I haven't even been published in what, three years? And I haven't even sought out freelance gigs in that time because I've come to doubt everything I write. Nobody would hire me. This shit is horrible.

I'm being honest here. I don't know why I write this blog. Sometimes I feel like I'm overflowing with delusions of grandeur, like I'm some gifted, brilliant writer with this hugely popular blog. One where people see it update in their Google Reader and instantly flock to it. One where people tell their friends, "Holy shit, this girl is hilarious." One with links to it from sites far and wide. I don't know. I think I know of like five people who actually read this, and at least two are related to me, the rest are personal friends or friends of personal friends. So I don't know who I'm writing for. Me? I don't know. I have no idea what I'm talking about.

Writing, for me, feels like a hopeless one-way love affair that I am never going to win.

Even when I was writing regularly, to see my stuff in actual ink, it was a temperamental process. People who worked in the newsroom with me, or random friends who would be witness to my writing process, were used to my full-out tantrums while I would write. I'd get two paragraphs, furiously delete, scream obscenities and threaten to change my major, storm off and smoke a bowl, write six more paragraphs. Rinse, repeat. It took me hours to write simple columns and blogs. I was, and am, that cripplingly insecure about my writing.

So why do I do it? Why am I so masochistic? And I think the better question is, aren't we all? Aren't all writers a little masochistic? I have never met a truly egotistical writer. Find me a writer who truly thinks everything he/she writes is golden and epic, and I will find someone who is completely and utterly full of shit. We're a self-loathy bunch, we writers. And I guess I can't count myself too far out of the game when I still consider myself to be one.

Someday it'll make sense, and someday I'll actually keep up with this blog and make it entertaining, be it shitty posts, insightful posts, or funny shit that keeps you coming back for more. But in the meantime, bear with me while I'm pissy and writer's blocky.