Messy Notebooks & Messy Heads

A Letter from me to you

Lately, I have found myself unable to write. Don't get me wrong, I am still able to write and I know what I want to write, I just lack the will and want to write; I just keep thinking why, why should I write. What's the point?

So, annoyed, I voiced my worries and troubles with a few friends of mine, and one in particular really helped me to realise what was my problem. He told me that, perhaps, I wasn't able to write because, subconsciously, there was something that was bothering me and stopping me.

My mind went your way immediately. You. You were the reason I like writing. You were the reason why I found my passion. You were the reason why I wrote so much. You were the reason why I wrote at all. You were the one who made me believe in my writing. You.

Just reading my words, writing my own thoughts makes me sick to my stomach. How could I think like this? How could I rely on someone to validate my passion and my works? How could I rely on someone's approval so deeply that, if they didn't like what I wrote, I would be willing to change everything? I love to write, I know I can write, why did I rely on your approval so much?

Now I know why writing has been so hard for me lately, and I know I need to change. I will change. I won't rely on someone for approval on my writing. I won't let my mind wander with those depressive voices that tell me that my writing will never be enough, that no one will ever read my words.

I believe in myself. I believe in my writing. I believe in my characters. I believe in my stories. I believe in my art. I believe in what I can do. I believe in myself.

Thank you for the pain you put me through and for making me see my wrongs. Thank you for helping me work on myself. Thank you for letting me see all of this.

Thank you,
M. S. Lobo