I feel honored to be a part of this special writer's club that gets to speak and type my voice on this blog.
I really do.
I am one of seven voices, and that feels really nice, that people would even be interested in hearing or reading what I have to say.
Sometimes I feel as if I am typing into a great big void of nothingness.
Sometimes I put my heart and soul into this blog, and then I notice that nobody has commented.
Or maybe three days go by and only one or two comments, after I painstakingly spent hours trying to formulate how to use my words, and what to say in just the way it needs to be said.
In my mind, which is constantly in panic mode and on fast-forward, this lack of comments means that nobody cares at all what I write or say. It means that I am talking to a wall, which I do a lot of anyway. I just don't type it out. It means that I start doubting myself and questioning myself and my validity. Who the hell do I think I am anyway? Why am I writing about this stuff - as if Im some authority on grief emotions or being a widow? Why would anybody stop to read my silly words?
It's a dangerous cycle, and it all starts and ends inside my own brain.
I am a writer.
I am a comedian.
Us creative types, we tend to get our feelings hurt very easily. We tend to assume things. We tend to care way too much about what other people think of us. We tend to have a tough exterior, but often feel like we are cracking open on the inside. All of these traits are brought forth and multiplied by ten thousand, when you lose your life partner to death. No longer do I have that person who loved every single thing I wrote, acted in, or performed onstage. No longer do I have my biggest fan, waiting for me with flowers and a card and lots of long warm hugs. No longer do I have that person who would sit and ead every article, blog post, or review I ever wrote - and then quote me back to me, reciting out loud to me all his favorite parts of what I had just written. No longer do I have my boomerang. Now? I put something out there, I'm taking the very big chance that nothing comes back.
Hurts my ego. Hurts my soul. Makes me doubt.
But that is all on me. These are my own issues. I realize this.
I'm working on it. I really am.
I'm working on being really, totally, really, actually okay with just knowing that what I wrote was good and truthful, and if nobody responds, that is okay.
I'm working on it.
But I don't feel it yet.
I still miss my boomerang.