My Thoughts "In the Middle of the Night"

When people tell you you're not good enough for long enough you start to believe them. I can't write, I can't do good work, I'm not attractive, I'm not smart. Sometimes it's like my mind is a fortress and these doubts are clamoring at the gates. When enough of them line up they can break down the doors and run roughshod around my mind. Sometimes the citizens of my own mind turn against me and join the intruders. My spirit, my heart, my soul, whatever you want to call it, is the besieged king holed up in the deepest tower. He has a single window that shines rays of hope and beauty occasionally into his world (art, friendship, etc.) but his surroundings are an ever constant reminder that his own citizens have begun to turn against him. Can anyone save him? Or does this revolution just need to be weathered like every passing storm? Alas that I am not alone in these troubles. And they will surely be forgotten as wartime in peace when the veil is lifted again. But they are worth noting and I do so here (though the hour is late). The better to defense myself in the future.

I haven't been writing enough. Writing is therapeutic and relieves my wearied mind. It puts my thoughts in order and gives me a full view of the battlefield formerly obscured by smoke. Writing is good. I think I have a tendency to put far too much pressure on my writing to be good and meaningful and noteworthy when really all it has to be is there. It doesn't have to be a script. It doesn't have to be a blog or news article. It just has to be. Writing isn't relevant on purpose. I'm going to start writing more.