Today I do something bold that I should have done ages ago.
I’m kicking you out.
Yes, that’s right, it’s over between us. I honestly don’t know why I’ve allowed you to linger as long as I have. We’ve never gotten along, had nothing in common from the beginning. I’m a free spirit and a dreamer, but you’ve never supported me. There are so many things I want to accomplish in life – the writing and publishing of my book series first and foremost – that I just cannot do with you overshadowing me and consistently putting me down. In fact, as I write this, I realize just how abusive our relationship has really been.
All I want to do is make a name for myself as I have fun spinning tales of fantasy and magic, yet every time I finally discover one of those creative sparks and sit down, caressing it as if I’ve found a precious jewel, you slap it out of my hand. I’m sick and tired of your jealousy as if I can’t do anything that doesn’t involve you. Jealousy… that’s what it is, right? You can’t stand to see something else make me happy. But, the thing is, when have you ever been the one to bring a smile to my face? Right. Never. Not once have I ever felt worthy of anything in your presence. I’m coming to think that you live to see me in despair, that you feed off of the frustration as I’m driven to tears in the face of your adversity. Hell, if I didn’t know any better I would say that this dreaded Writer’s Block has been your doing as well, as if you’ve let it in like some destructive stray dog. It eats up my time with inactivity, sits there in the corner, always watching me with a judgmental eye, growling angrily when I sit to write, thinking that I might have found the joy in it again.
Even when ‘Writer’s Block’ disappears for a few hours now and again, you’re right there waiting to take his place. You tower above me and laugh at my dreams as if they’re the silliest notion you’ve ever heard in your life. You point fingers and tell me that I’m worthless, that I’ll never amount to anything no matter how hard I try, so why should I even bother? It’s because of you that I’ve whiled away the better part of the last three months afraid to grasp for my own talent, stifled by the voices you’ve left to fester in my head.
Why should I sit here in the darkness of my despair and tell myself that my writing is terrible? I wrote it. I’ve rewritten it. I’ve edited it and read it over and over again, and it’s so much better than allow myself credit for, than you allow me to think because those are your words, not mine.
“I’m not good enough.”
You go ahead and keep those words since you’re the rock that’s weighing down this relationship, leaving it stagnant and drowning at the bottom of the pond. You just can’t stand to see me succeed.
Does the world really need another fantasy story? My story? Will the world cease to spin if Nyte-Fyre never sees the light of the publishing world? Probably not, but I need this story and I won’t give up just because you’ve told me too. A friend just recently reminded me that even if it seems like just another story when you write it you have to remember that it’s your story – your characters, your events. Yours and no one else’s. He’s right and I won’t forget that. I will pick myself up off the ground, find the light in this darkness and move on with a renewed passion in what I love. I will write without limits and make something of myself… without you.
You have been nothing more than a poison in this relationship, the toxins you’ve dripped into me running through my blood and infecting my mind. Well, now I pull the needle free. I won’t even pause to lick my wounds. Instead, I will run with the wind and take joy in wherever it leads me.
For the last time, I’m done with you.
So, on this thirteenth day of August in the year two thousand and thirteen, I offer you this eviction notice. And no, this is not one of those two week notices. I want you gone today and I never want to see your ugly personality around here again.
P.S. Take that wretched animal ‘Writer’s Block’ with you.