I Want Out

Being different is hard. Sometimes, that's just the way it is. But other times, being different is a choice. I've felt so disconnected lately, from God, from people, from life. And I'm wondering, is it because I haven't been brave enough over the last few months to choose to be different from the rest of the world around me?

I've been missing writing in its purest form. Quite honestly, when I write for other people, the shift in focus steals something from the writing for me. The wanting to appeal, impress, please. The wondering what others will think as I construct my art. It changes everything.

The only reason I've hopped back on the social media train (quite fully) is because of writing, and that makes me so sad. Do I really have to play some soul-sucking game in order to write?

It seems that approval and acceptance have been even more important to me than I've thought. Because when I really stop and think about what it is that I'm after, it's validation, for an agent and a publishing house to take notice of me. And so I've been striving for some sort of platform. But that's not what I want my writing to be about.

Will someone take notice of me without one? Can I leave the party once again and still "make it" as a writer?

But maybe a more important question is what does it matter if I don't choose the traditional route once more? Are "traditional" and "mainstream" really the definition of success? And what does it matter if I don't "make it?"

So I've been thinking a lot lately about what other ideas I've been subscribing to, mostly because the culture is telling me to. It bothers me how obsessed I've been over the last few days about whether or not to cut my hair, as if cutting it might actually be the biggest mistake I could ever make with my life. When did I become so accepting of the idea that long hair equals beauty? Has it always been that way?

I hate that I've felt like I need to stay, that I have to keep thinking this way if I want to feel accepted and be connected to people.

I want out. I'm so sick of being what "they" want me to be. And I'm sick of nourishing the connections that only keep me tethered to the lies more tightly.

Who are "they" anyway? Have I forgotten that no one will ever think of me as much as I think of myself? An illusion and lies. Of what I need to do and who I need to be to win at this thing called life.

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