Author has written 2 stories for Harry Potter.
I was gone for years.
I could list a thousand excuses, but the truth is that I lost myself somewhere in between reality and daydreams, and I'm still trying to find me. I started written long before I even shared it with anyone as a way of shutting the noise in my head and alow some clarity, some frugal moment of concentrating on myself without having to actually focus on me. Is how I discovered and explored all the pieces of how and what and even why I am so I could understand the who.
Then life happens. Nothing fundamental or core-shacking. Just regular moments of highs and lows followed by a quietness I wasn't sure of what it meant or where it came from. But it was quiet so I let it be. I let myself be on it and move on. Problem is... I wasn't really moving. And if you excuse the hubris here, I always pride myself of being very clever, quite the analytical and pragmatical mind of mine, so is a little shameful to admit that it took me a very long time to realise that I was stuck. Again. Old habits die hard, I suppose.
I fooled myself into believing that because it was quiet I was okay. I could be okay. And here is where it laid the root of the problem: Okay was never the goal. It was comforting and it didn't require almost any effort. I could distract my mind with infinite things to calm the noise and it was so soothing, so very pleasantly effective that the mere thought or intent to start writing again, even when my fingertips itched and my imagination barely gave me any breaks, filled me with an exhausting anxiousness.
Ironic, isn't? The very thing that used to bring me peace and clearance, excitement, now tighten my chest and constrict my stomach until my mind gets foggy and my hands shake. And I gave up. I run back to whatever of those other distractions until the quiet comes back. But as sedative as it is, is just an okay quiet. Like letting yourself floating in the middle of the ocean thinking that just because you haven't drowned, you're safe; that because you know how to sail the storm without sinking to the bottom means that everything is fine. That's the trap I let myself in: believing that if I didn't feel worst, if I manage to stay afloat, then there's no bloody problem, right? That maybe is just my overacting mind rocking that fine quietness I grown so attached to. And maybe that voice from the deep is right and «you shouldn't.» And «why bother?» And above anything else, «you're gonna regret it.»
Oh, self-doubt, what a bitch.
So, here is the thing my hubris didn't want to admit: there's a fine line between self-soothing and self-pitying; and every time I gave up, every time I went back to that okay quiet, I got a little further into that ocean and lose another piece of myself. The pieces that writing helped me to understand me, to make sense between all the noise and being able to recognize my own voice. To hear it. I was so focused on keeping that quiet that I end silencing myself.
My head is still full of daydreams and ideas, yet I'm still trying to distinguish my voice from that sneaky bitch that had me trap. To remind me that okay was never the goal so I can really move on and feel me again. Be me. Whatever that means.
But I will bring myself back.