OCTOBER JOURNAL PART 1

*I meant to post this on 31st October for my writing anniversary, but life happened, so here it is now!”😬😅

My October Journal: Realised I am The Problem

Hey SHADOWLINGS that apparently still don't know that I exist yet ( hehe ) *puts a spell that all of you, wherever you are,ends up on my blog page* so it's been a rough year and like as in I got possessed by Homer Simpson pure laziness unfortunately.

…* cough *Don't you judge me, yeah!

So this will be like a once a year series where I showcase my ups and down , success and failure and just portray that at the end of the day I am human like you guys, I may not be perfect neither My writing but anyways hopefully by next year I did something that I can be like “ hey my first gold star hopefully enough to buy my first chanel” 🫣but I really hope you enjoy this one part yearly series and also i want to include everyone journey is different so don't compare cause its bad and that rhymes with sad ( such a bad joke sorry)

Let's begin my sweet tragedy so far to a realisation that happened today itself

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As time goes by, it was just another day as usual, where I just doom scroll and waste my hours Into pure Ash like how I did for 5 years as a shut in, the clock ticking was a melody, a mockery to my ear reminding me, how I waste my time and do nothing anything about it.

There's so much to be entertained by yet nothing to feel, It’s like scrolling against a brick wall of emptiness. Maybe it’s because I knew I could’ve done something productive today, but instead I used an impressive amount of useless excuses not to. At this point, I’m convinced I have a clingy gremlin, aka the Sloth Demon named. sir Snoozalot living rent-free in my soul.

The power it beholds over me, that for 5 years it energetically paralyzed me; I even whine about refilling my own water bottle. I wonder if I can sue it for emotional and time theft. But instead I shall demand energy compensation. It better come with money bonus.

Laying on my bed, where the mattress has started to sink even further, creaking like it’s literally chained me to, it is a warning for every day I overstay. Sometimes I wonder… if laziness never existed, where would I be today? Well better than munching on chips, on my bed with a bad neck posture, for looking down at my phone all day.

I imagine myself in the middle, my 20 years old on one side looking at me with hope that something maybe changed, would it a bad time to give her a tissue and tell her that we are still a mess , well better then my 30 years old future self on the other side looking at Me with pure disappointment and holding a baseball bat *gulps*, if anything she should be swinging at Sir Snoozalot instead, for being an uninvited menace living rent-free.

Getting off my phone and just casually staring at the empty ceiling that reflects my.. well empty life, well especially since the moment I was born and suddenly a thought process came in my mind -

How does a spark even arrive in a person’s life, in their soul? What if it never comes at all? Or worse… What if we’re the ones blocking it without realizing it?

I certainly don’t expect to be hit by a lightning bolt and gain Superman energy, unless I’m planning to write from the grave. But knowing me, even my soul would do what it knows best… sleep. Or maybe it's just impossible right?

(goes from her deep TED talks back to doomscrolling on her phone)

As usual, nothing much was going on TikTok… until I came across a post that actually caught my eye for the first time in forever. It was a scene from my childhood favorite movie, Meet the Robinsons. Of course, I found a way to watch it for free online because your girl refuses to spend a whole £5 on Netflix. (Okay fine, I could afford it, but I’m in my kanjoos era, thank you very much.)

It was more than an hour of storyline, but enough to shed a lot of tears. I realized… Maybe I was scared of failure, scared my stories wouldn’t be perfect. I was an amateur writer, afraid to show my flaws to the world.

But now I’ve learned: failure isn’t the end. My creative process is a machine jammed with overthinking and perfectionism and I have to be my own engineer, attempting to fix my courage and my attempts. Not every story will be successful, but ideas should never be jailed in your head forever; otherwise, they just rot and ruin your sleep. And that’s fine, at least you tried. You learn from mistakes. As that movie reminded me: “From failing, you learn. From success? Not so much.”

On the other hand Sir Snoozalot is in the corner, mocking me. I can practically hear his smug little snore. But not this time I’m breaking the cycle.

I opened my Google Doc and stared at the blank page. My mind was still foggy, but there was a new spark of determination. I started with one word… then fifteen. For others, it’s nothing but for me, it was a new beginning.

So here I am, working on my first story. And I promise you, even if zombies chase me during the apocalypse, I’ll keep writing. (Okay, maybe not, I can’t multitask. Imagine running from a breed of zombies and typing on your laptop at the same time, I’d trip and get eaten within ten seconds. Oh well.)

But still… It’s my time to reclaim my voice. .