As a writer, I’ve mentioned previously my paranoia of not meeting the expectations of others upon evaluation. Now, a seemingly more dangerous thing is happening to my repertoire of language – words are disappearing from my command. It’s not so much that I lack knowledge of definitions, because people are constantly testing the “English major” stereotype, but rather it’s an internal issue that is leaving an indelible impression upon my confidence in more ways than one.
It might be an issue of pride – I see the work of my peers and feel like I am somehow inadequate, like I somehow need to outdo them. However, I should know by now that all artists produce different echoes when faced with a cave. To compare my artistic voice to another artist’s would be like measuring the jagged edges on two rocks; there’s little point to doing it, and often quite hard to properly ascertain.
Whatever the problem is, it’s distressing for a writer to go through this kind of existent, or non-existent, trauma. I cannot properly convey the urgency of the situation at hand because this post was actually spread out over two very eventful days. Thinking more and more on the problem…perhaps it’s just a simple lack of the very elixir powering my mind: sleep.