#wordselfie

although it’s spring break and i’ve made it a point to avoid productivity, i do have several projects that need to be done. despite my best attempts at forgetting them, they cling to my body like clothes that are slightly too small - the type of too small that, though you usually wear a medium, is made by a different manufacturer and you knew you should have tried them on but your pride insisted “you are a medium, don’t bother” and, sure enough, here you are, struggling to breathe while the fabric grates on your medium skin and reminds you that you have papers to write. papers to write as an english major are par for the course. “papers to write” as a graduate student, while obviously more difficult, might as well be a perpetual status of being that should be expected and as normal as waking up in the morning - most likely you will, but sometimes you don’t. so why am i struggling? if i knew, precisely, i wouldn’t be approaching this from such a vague and wordy perspective. despite the impression my writing style may give you, i can, shockingly, be direct. but where’s the fun in that? i can pinpoint when my “writing ptsd” began manifesting in such a way that it was becoming truly detrimental, but its roots extend far below the surface of that event. said event being my first, genuine graduate level research project. more or less, i got smacked right in the wordy mouth - a first for me. it wasn’t that i didn’t enjoy the subject or the process or the extensive reading or even the writing. it was because, well, simply because it was hard. 

oh come on, it was hard? that’s my excuse? of course it was, but it was the first time it was so hard for me. i, as a flawed human, find many tasks to be difficult. many times i fail on my first attempt and, often, subsequent ones as well - an example being removing keys from a keyring. it’s nearly impossible for me to do, but i hand it over to a friend and they manage it in a matter of seconds. that’s just how life is. i couldn’t take keys off a keyring but i could read books and write papers. when i was soul searching in nashville, feeling as if i had made a major mistake - i chose to return to indiana state university to pursue an english degree for a number of reasons, but two particular contributors to that decision were “i enjoy it and its easy to me.” it’s interesting doing something you love because it can be, realistically, dangerous. i think you put that love or passion at jeopardy when you decide to elevate it from the comfortable but pressureless role of pastime to profession. it can become tainted and agonizing because now its a source of struggle when, still fresh in your confused and depressed mind, it used to bring you pleasure. 

so, like i said, i got smacked. the kind of hit to the face that, despite your best attempts, you can’t stop the tears from transforming your vision into a painful kaleidoscope, your ears are ringing like a homephone in the 90′s after an episode of survivor, and your mind is as blank as the word processor sitting in front of you. maybe its over dramatic and im a hypocrite, but it’s how i felt and, to an extent, still feel. i think the simplest way to sum it up is this: whenever you, deep within your greediest heart of hearts, allow yourself to believe “yeah, i’m kinda okay at this” and begin to gradually define yourself by this “kinda okay” feature because it’s something you actually like about yourself and then, often with a suddenness you’re unable or unwilling to comprehend, that feature you were “kinda okay” at that made things kinda easy fails, crumbling down into the darkest pit of your stomach along with your confidence because you could count the things you liked about yourself on a hand with some amputated fingers and this one was your favorite. when something enjoyable is easy and it abruptly becomes hard, the stoicism and mental fortitude required to struggle on through is, often, absent. thus the conundrum of easy’s difficult nature. thus my struggle to write papers or, honestly, anything at all. after writing all of this out, a moral victory (but “moral victories are for little league coaches” - Jay Z), my point for doing so isn’t substantial, wise, or even thought provoking - i’m just tired of feeling this way, i want to rekindle that enjoyment, i want to remind myself that I can do it. if it’s hard, it’s hard, such is life, such are most things worth doing, a challenge is a chance to learn. I know this and think this but don’t always act accordingly, however, i’m working on it. i think that, because im working on it, i’ll be okay. i’ll go on writing a word, then a sentence, then a paragraph, and then a page. and then another. 

listening to: james blake’s The Colour In Anything