Write… just write.

 **I will edit this later, just needed to toss it out of my head for now.

"Write" he says to me, reading a tweet about a short story contest.

"I can’t", I hear myself saying back to him. "I’m just not very good."

"Yes you are, you can’t be the robin in the picture forever, you don’t want to be Forty, lazing on the couch saying ‘I can’t’ do you?" It’s harsh, but its true, he’s right, and I appreciate the bluntness of his reply.

But still, I don’t write as much as I used to, as much as I should. A story. even a short story at that, do I have what it takes? I ask myself, do you have the creativity, and imagination to write a short story. 

I haven’t yet set pen to paper, and I’m already betting against myself. I can hear my own thoughts careful crafting my own demise.

So I sit here, on OD, instead of writing, contemplating what it means, to me. What can it do for me?

Words are the heart and soul of everything, and music is the tune that plays them out. I am constantly writing, in my thoughts, but for some reason it does not seem to ever make it to the paper. 

"This music doesn’t inspire me". That is my greatest fault. That dependence on music. Music, to connect my feelings and thoughts, to set a mood, and to inspire. It’s a lot of pressure for my playlist, it’s a good thing is has no idea.

But, it’s just an excuse, because when I’m writing, and I’m invested, it’s the words in my head I hear, and the music softly falls into the background, and helps time flicker away.

I used to write here, for myself. Raw, what was on my mind, and however it slipped out. Almost unaware that there are tens of thousands of others who write here. But sometimes now, I feel like when I write I’m aware there is an audience, and I wonder if I am keeping them entertained, and hopefully not boring them.

I have created this pressure, this incredible expectation, one that in reality doesn’t exist at all. I have somehow managed to apply  this pressure to all of the aspects of my life where I feel inadequate, or to the new skills I try to learn.

I am really my own worst enemy, and I am the reason, that I am failing at all of the things I love.

Sam always tells me "You’re an artist", and even when I don’t say it to him, all I ever think is… "No Isha, you’re not".

Why so negative? Why always betting against myself, I have no idea. To break this pattern I feel will take work. Will take time, and lots of writing, playing my guitar and sketching, those are my outlets, where I can lose myself, and banish those negative thoughts away.

I am taking English, when I go back to school. I want to write, that’s what I want to do, and even if a career doesn’t come from it, I want to study Language, and literature. I don’t want to take the easy road this time, it hasn’t worked for me yet.

I’m tempted to say, "Good Luck Isha, you  are truly going to need it", but instead I’m going to say "You can do this, you’re going to be great… work hard, and keep focused and you’ll be graduating, before you know it…"