#AtoZChallenge Reflections #IWSG Writing Fears- Existential Crisis

I didn't get to comment on as many blogs as I hoped and planned to. Life is not what I ever imagined and I'm having a difficult time adjusting and reprioritizing. I can't wrap my head around my current situation.

Jamie of UniquelyMaladjustedButFun

This fortune cookie 🥠 actually sums it up. 

I fear being less than who I dreamed I would be.

Except... I am. 

I am far less than my dreams. 

Do I start over with new ones? 

Would it matter? Doctors keep saying I'll be gone before 2030, absolutely no matter what, that I will never turn 50. Seems like a threat, because they won't even offer hope or space for a miracle or anything. I don't know what to do with that. 

Just live each day?

Just try to spend as much time with my husband as possible? 

I love him. I'm grateful for him. I absolutely don't want to exist without him by my side. 

I barely read or write anymore.

Didn't even manage to make many blog comments because I didn't prioritize time for it. 

So, I guess my fear now is that I'll write instead of spending moments with my husband. And I fall apart when we're watching tv together (the only activity he's interested in at all right now) and he starts playing on his phone. And I'm excluded. So now I'm not living my dream, I'm not reading or writing, and we're not actually doing something together. And I don't like myself. And I don't know WHAT NOW. 

What goal do I live for?

Who am I? 

Do I just wait for death?

Do I demand more of myself?

And to top all of this, my wrist HURTS. Just this month of blogging, half done on my phone, has my wrist and fingers feeling like a rock 🪨 smashed them. 

(A problem that started in Jan 2024, when the stroke impacted my right arm, and then got worse when it was SLAMMED hard, with all the might of a tech and nurse, as they tried to shove me into a tube and I got stuck.) So now writing, something I live/d for and that makes me feel alive, happy, and purposeful... now it hurts. Like a punishment, like maybe I'm not supposed to be me. Maybe I'm just supposed to be John's wife. A great gig, granted, and one I am grateful and proud to have. But am I still more? Am I me? 

Or am I already gone?

I have ALWAYS said that if I can't write, if I'm not writing, that I am dead. 

I hold to that.

Right now, I'm alive, but I'm barely living.

I am not who I was. 

Rejections, failures, lack of talent or ability? 

Those were never my big fears.

Success... slightly, because I've dealt with stalkers before (non-fame reasons) and I don't have it in me to go through that again.

I don't know.

When I think about what I most want, it's to traditional publish a novel under my name. 

Preferably the Lenore story I've been working on for a few years.

A traditional publisher wouldn't accept it because it would ABSOLUTELY be a banned book in America right now. 

And if you speed round ask me what I most want to do with my life, with my time left, that's what I'll immediately say. 

And then pause.

And say I actually want to spend every possible moment with my husband. Who the doctors keep saying will be gone in four years, UNLESS he gets his blood sugar under control. (He gets an unless. But every time he gets close, something happens and it gets messed up. Like they change his meds. Or now he can't do physical activities. But we're not supposed to consider the scientific reasons. We're supposed to just FIGURE IT OUT. Other people magically master this, why can't we? 

I'M A FUCKING FAILURE.) 

See... and then I don't want to write. Don't feel like I should.

Don't know who I am. 

I have no idea who I am. 

I don't think I've been me since 1998. 

All my social media. "JamieWriter." 

That's how I define myself. 

Sure sounds like someone who should spend most of her time writing. Or at least some. Sounds like she'd fight for it.

And she'd protest libraries being shutdown. Probably more than just letters and mentions on her blog. 

Maladjusted. 

See... it was funny when I said it before. My mom always said I was strange. 

Maybe stranger than anyone knows. Even me. 

I WANT to WANT to write more than anything. And I do... sorta. I want my actions to reflect that. 

But, ah... what my actions and choices prove are that my true desires are to spend every possible moment with my husband, and to experience as little physically pain as possible. And that is the absolute truth.

Please, I need to fit writing in there. My soul wants NEEDS that.

I read the original Harry Potter query letter. If you've ever seen it, it's obvious why it was rejected. It breaks every query rule. It included sketches. It was a hot mess. It's amazing Harry Potter was published at all, let alone the subsequent worldwide phenomenon. 

But, there are 9 other examples. 

Maybe this meme graphic will help someone going through less of an existential crisis. 

https://www.facebook.com/share/1BbR9PRdbo/

I want to end this on an upbeat note. Because one thing I CAN do is support and appreciate other authors. Vikki is turning 60 and having a book release milestone. So please check that Facebook post out! Or her Urban Fantasy on Amazon.