Re-reading the essays I wrote over the last three months (!), I am wondering who the hell wrote this and what she was trying to do. As I was questioning my worth (the usual), a stroke of genius hit me: I am not writing for myself but to please my readers. FFS.
As we know, being selfish is essential for a writer. You write for yourself, what you know and want to read. Once you start writing to please the audience, you inevitably tame yourself (to not say censure) and lose a part of what makes you unique. It is uncomfortable when a relative is concerned about your mental health and contacts you after reading your essay. “Are you ok?”. No, I am totally unhinged but it’s been worse.
Inevitably this pushed me to write more positive pieces or at the very least, add some sparkles. Eww. Let’s not fool ourselves, I have not been writing over-fluffy essays either but they are clearly too positive for my standards. Caring for you, my readers, to not bring you down. However, you do not have to read me when I most definitely have to write (therefore read) myself. And it is not what I like to read or surround myself with. On top of that, toxic positivity is a thing.
I mean, christ, I read Russian literature and the newspapers to distract myself. That says a lot about the type of person I am. Finally, I like pomegranates and that’s why I picked the picture, also have it tattooed on my arms in way too big. It’s a cool fruit that explodes if you push it too far and I feel that deep in my soul. It feels good to be truthful.
That’s it for now. See you next week <3