I used to hurt myself in many different ways. Not just strictly physical, but also with actions. I drank too much without caring for my body, I talked myself down and starved my body. I had a need to feel and look sick so that I didn’t have to deal with what I was supposed to deal with – I had an excuse and that made my life easier in a way- but not happier, more exciting or more livable. And definitely not full of purpose and fulfillment.
Reading “The war of art” made me realize why I spent so many years fighting with myself; it is so much easier than fighting for myself. It was easier to make an excuse not to start writing and expressing myself through creativity and accepting my lack of talent than actually doing something that fulfilled me and expressed who I truly was and still am.
My excuses were many. On one hand I can think of: people will make fun of me and not understand what I am trying to do, I am not good enough at doing this, I should get a real career that will get me a steady income, writing and self expression is just a hobby, I will not reach anyone with my work – no one will like/enjoy/relate to it… the list can grow endlessly. There are so many fights I have to fight within to actually find the courage to do this shit anyway; there is not just the one fight. Excuses are much easier to come up with and fall back on, and you rarely risk anything by following their advice. But they never help you to become a better person.
With every move I make towards getting my book out there I fight a million voices that tries to tell me why there is no point in proceeding and “wasting time” working on it. I fight those voices mentioned above but add to them any possible doubt and that is the forces that are trying to put me “back in place” and not trust that I can do what I truly want to do. Why me, is a big one? There are so many people out there that could be doing this a million times better – it tells me and I hear it. Every day I try not to listen.
In “the War of art” Steven Pressfield call this resistance to create and the resistance to creativity. Just opening the war of art made me, from the first page, feel and understand that this force, that is trying to prevent me from doing what I love, will be there with me as a bad friend forever. But, now when I know him, I know that he is the one being insecure, scared, unloved, unfulfilled and not worth ever listening to – not the real me. He is the black angel, the bully who doesn’t know any better, and he is always full of shit.
Even though I hear him loud and clear, every day, I will not let him win over me, because I know that I will look back and thank myself for every fight I won against him. If I give in it only means that I will have to start doing this shit later in life – because this is what I would do if someone gave me six months left to live. To me it is meaningful and it gives my soul and me a purpose. That’s how I know that he is full of shit that resistance, I know that this is worth fighting for and I know that if I will not do this I will always just be my own shadow.