Sometimes, when I write, I get a sort of fuzzy feeling in my body. I guess it's most similar to the sensation of getting goosebumps, but it's different, too: I feel warm, but not in a comforted or kilig way. It's just like someone's removed the tension from my body.
I guess this is my true catharsis. I've long stopped believing that my ability to write is extraordinary or anything, but I write anyway because afterwards I feel like I can take another day. Like I'm not about to implode and collapse and ultimately give up on life.
I'm a perfectionist, I know. It's just that I've been told all my life that I'm really capable and can go places; I just lack the confidence in myself. The latter part is essentially false though; I do think that I can do what I want myself to do, it's just that I try to humble myself so that I don't make people upset (myself included). And also so that I don't become complacent, although that is, I admit, a goal rarely achieved. That's why I'm always disappointed when I don't live up to the standards I've set for myself. Even outcomes that would generally be seen as good are classified as failures when it comes to me.
I'm split in half that way. It's some sort of a cycle. At times I believe in myself, and at others I don't. What's in between those two phases are failures. I don't allow myself to make mistakes, and that's one of my greatest flaws. I know this, but I don't consciously remember it so that I live my life by a correcting principle. But the more I grieve for blunders, the blinder I become to their silver lining. In other words, I don't learn from them - they simply become blank gravestones.
I gotta stop living in the past.