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...but sometimes it feels like I've bitten off more than I can chew when it comes to my writing. Not to sound arrogant, but I like to think that my writing is better than some writers out there who are already published. And I know I have the drive to become a published author. But sometimes that voice pops up reminding me of how much I have left to do. Funny how it sounds like my aunt, the first one to criticize my wanting to be a writer. It's not like I even talk to her, or many of my relatives on my mom's side...and for that reason (among others, but that's one of the bigger ones). And whenever I doubt myself, it sounds like one of them. I hate self-doubt. I hate being prone to it. I want to write, and I'm doing it, but I can't help but ask with every word I type, "Can I do this? Can I really do this?" It's not even writers block; that I can deal with much easier than pitying myself and whining, "Is it worth it?" Ugh. I'm so frustrated right now. I don't want to doubt myself. But I do. And I hate it.

Just an English professor (who happens to be a friend) and some other teachers, and some others I know who are also trying to break into writing (we're each others cheerleaders). I know that even if my stuff weren't good enough to publish, it can be fixed. It just aggravates me when I start to tell myself, "why bother?" And it's always in the collective voice of my family, the majority of which do not support me in any way, shape or form because I'm too "out there". Whatever their definition of "out there" is, it changes to suit whatever I'm doing. I'm going to start taking college courses hopefully next spring, once I can take courses like creative writing and whatnot I can get a better feel for where I could use improvement. I'm hoping that will help with the why bother's, but I don't know. It's not so much that I even doubt I can do it; I know that with enough drive and effort I can (I also believe in the power of positive thinking at times). I'm just in this slump where I constantly ask myself, why should I even bother with this? Will this really make me happy? And every time I ask myself that, it sounds like my family asking which makes it so much worse. Ugh. It's strange to me that my relationship (or lack thereof) with my extended family only bothers me now with this, depressive episodes aside. I don't even really care what they think of me anymore, I just can't help but parrot their views on what I want to do, and it's starting to get to me finally.