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I Am

by Adrian Chambliss 2 years ago in goals
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Two words I allow none to add to.

I Am
Photo by Mantas Hesthaven on Unsplash

For the longest time, I've struggled with completing stories. I have no quarrel with long works, but the procrastination always felt like an emotional blockage rather than simple "writer's block". I've been doing self-research, or researching all the pseudo-science and "facts" I can about the particulars of my character, and I've come to find a new paragraph is written whenever I look into my own world for a bit. Sometimes I could get lost for days in pursuit of my identity; a dozen tabs ranging from astrology to the practices of "chaos magic" line my tabs bar from a few weeks at a time before moving on to the more practical things like work, relationships, and hygiene. I often forget too soon the joy I had finding the contents that aroused my suspicious nature. I longed for a narrative that gave me the freedom and wonder of googling for hours about things "related to me". So when I first came across Vocal, I didn't think I'd really be able to hop in and start making money, but it turns out I can, just nearly half the revenue per 1,000 reads.

I've been at work trying to build a story that would keep people coming back for more, wanting a definitive end to the lore I lay before them every week or so. It'd thrill me to no end creating such tales, but when I settle down and begin to make sense of my flight of ideas, I become numb and indifferent to the task. The thoughts of turning my passion into a business freezes me still and fills me with doubt. Not the typical "I don't know if they'll like me or not" doubt, either. This lack of passion for the project; this abandonment of the task always stems from the grim reality of turning what I love into a business. As if the routine of updating a story weekly would sour the freedom I felt in my infinite space of curiosity. The development of the story is always better than defining it for others to digest.

I don't know if other writers feel this, or if it's just some string of depression I haven't admitted to yet, but I'm on a journey of sorts every day, trying to "explain me" to the mass society. These collectives of individuals that may very well have the means to make my livelihood better in exchange for a bit of entertainment, a distraction for the common noise; these would seem to be the anchor to my drifting raft in a sea of thoughts, but they only bring storms to brave. I more than not fail to convey "me" to others quite often. I've reached a point in my life where I'm more inclined to apologize immediately and accept consequences to the fear or confusion generated by my words. Perhaps I'm afraid of personal experience leaking through into my work. Maybe I just want some confirmation of the opposite being a probability. I can't say for certain, but the idea of telling others who I am has lost its appeal in recent years.

I encourage my fiancé today to keep a journal of her emotions and should she ever feel the need to express herself to me without judgment or interruption, she'd personally give me her journal to read, myself. It's been somewhat effective and our relationship has improved, but I don't provide her a journal, as I'm not afraid of my suicidal thoughts or the dark corners of my mind. I've attempted once to convey my depression and it resulted in mass confusion and worry of her "not living up to her responsibilities as my partner in life". I personally feel as if any of the otherwise "free" thoughts in my mind are best kept in a box of torn sheets of paper. The thoughts fall down like puzzle pieces for those interested to dissect and piece together, like a DIY puzzle game that somehow creates a satisfying image for all who finishes it. It doesn't help me in the slightest to express these dark and inner-personal traumas.

I want to talk about it. I want to talk about "me". But my interpretation of self is jagged, imposing, and often gives simplicity where complexity was desired. So I decided Vocal would be my journal. I don't believe I desire a career, just an outlet. I'm more than happy to live a quiet life, working some miscellaneous job here and there to make ends meet, as long as I can pour myself into a meaning I can truly get behind. This isn't much of a story, but I hope it best serves as a prologue to the narrative of who "I am". Any are welcome to follow into the psychobabble and learn me, for I am a book of infinite pages. I'll guide you through my pride, my shame, my fears, my desires, my aspirations, and my hobbies I use to navigate the simulation of life.

Welcome to my story. Thank you for reading this far, even if I lost you along the way. It is my hope that I may continue to explore my mind in peace here and that I find like-minds to discuss my "self" with. Until then, enjoy my insanity.


About the author

Adrian Chambliss

I'm a writer who enjoys studying different schools of thought, such as Philosophy, Theology, Sociology, and Psychology.

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