This life of writing, submitting and being rejected is akin to emotional torture. It’s like banging your head against a door made of steel only to have people tell you that you should keep doing it because one day you’ll break through. How messed up is that? It’s not only cruel; it’s downright bizarre. In other aspects of life, we try to advise people on how to steer away from things, people or places causing them pain.
When I was a child, I had this dream of seeing my name up in lights. Everyone would know who I was, and they’d throw compliments at me like confetti at a wedding. The one dream that I still have today is to see my book in Waterstones. Once that happens, I can die happy. In the last year, I have become increasingly aware of my old soul nature and how that limits my time on this mass of rock and gas. I don’t have a significant amount of time left here, and seeing my efforts go unnoticed is terrifying.
I have these days where nobody accepts my writing and the rejection emails pile up in my inbox. It always seems to happen when I’m emotionally fragile, which only furthers my instability. This afternoon, I got to a point where I had the compulsion to tweet my thoughts. If I didn’t get them out, I would have exploded. I started this blog because other platforms haven’t worked for me. Having a blog has been a dream of mine throughout my life, but it’s never stuck in the way it is right now.
While it would be nice to make a living from my writing, having an audience is my main priority and my main struggle. People treat social media as separate entities to themselves when it’s just a digital version of them. The thoughts we tweet will trace back to us, and depending on what you write, consequences will follow. Seeing the success of others increases my emotional instability. I have discussions with people who are so blind to their success that it almost seems obnoxious.
“Oh, plenty of people tell me I’m fabulous, honey, but I only care about the ones who mean it.”
They try to tell you that just because they receive a lot of attention doesn’t mean they care. What they neglect to remember is that they get attention, unlike some of us out here. They act as though they are above social media and its highs and lows, but they’re not. It is a process that unveils the kinks in the human chain. I’ve suffered mentally for over ten years, but I only realised in 2015. I have been around mental illness my entire life, but that knife had never cut my skin.
I was on a weekend trip to New York when I started to ruminate over the possibility that I was depressed. I had been watching Skins UK, and I related to how Effy Stonem felt. Things began to fall into place, and I finally understood.
Due to the rejection today, it accumulated into a blinding rage that almost had me smashing plates. It’s at times like this when I think I should invest in a punching bag. It’s a scorcher of a day, and the frustration only grows more prominent in such greenhouse circumstances.
Courtenay's Corner 