notes - Alec Rogers (Conval Regional High School, Twelfth Grade)
i often mourn my writing.
i feel this longing to express myself in a way i used to. to have the perfect words like i used to. after a while i lost my words. everything felt
misplaced, everything felt like i was fumbling to describe a feeling but i could never articulate it in a way thet would make sense or sound
pretty. i dont know why i stopped really. nothing was good anymore and it felt forced and it was always so horrible and cringey and I felt like I
was in third grade again, begging my teachers to read my short story I'd printed out at the library. I wanted so badly for them to be proud of
me. but it was a shit story typed in red. they could only ever smile. i think i ran out of things to write about, which shouldn't ever happen. i
always make a fool of myself. i can't speak to people, so why would i be able to write anything that invokes anything but pity? i think I've realized that i will never write
anything actually good. in the moment, I'll feel proud for writing something. then
looking back at it I'll realize this is the kind of stuff people laugh at, it's so bad. my only talent i ever had in writing was to draw shit out, make it look
bigger than it really is. as you can see here. it made me pity myself almost, so i stopped. one time not too long ago, i was at an author panel with my
mom. after the authors were finished speaking and were signing books at the back, i stood with my mom in line. when it was our turn, my mom told the
author that i was a writer. i was humiliated and angry and filled with self hatred. the only thing i have ever been, i am not anymore. i wanted to throw up. i wanted to cry. i haven't written anything in two years, i said. i have piles of empty journals, i said. please believe me!! im done feeling, no you have to believe me my thoughts will be in my head until i die until i choose to remove everything i have ever been from this world, i said. please god
mom shut up you've reminded me i am nothing.