Changes Come This Way

Originally posted 07/02/20
Another month has rolled by, and boy did it fly by. Sometimes being too busy can be a little too much. Sometimes daily life gets in the way no matter how you plan your week. For me this was no exception. I made more life changes, which was definitely good. I’m moving into another home with a better environment. I even plan to get a little fitter too, especially with my eating habits.

Another big decision was making the giant leap of planning the release of my first book, Woeful Requiem. There were many barriers along the way, but my perseverance has paid off. Although I don’t think I’ll do much in the way of sales, the main point of this journey is how I started it (and how I had some faith in myself, which I never usually have).

It all started five years ago when I wondered what I wanted to do in life. Unlike most people, I didn’t want to have my own family, and I certainly didn’t want to grind the same old job. I was at a point in my life where I’d graduated with a BA in photography, yet I was doing nothing with it. I felt like a failure because I wasn’t improving my photographic skills, and it seemed like I’d wasted four years of my life learning something I might not ever use again. Needless to say, I fell into a depressive state.

One night when my flatmates weren’t around, I got very drunk. I looked towards the past, looked at what I’d achieved and what I could do with those skills. But nothing came to mind until I thought back to the very first creative thing I did when I was a child.

My thoughts led me back to primary school where my teacher would let me go to the library and type out the stories I’d written. She was enthralled that I had an active imagination and was influenced by such games as Resident Evil and Silent Hill. For me, the mystery of those games (and the love for zombies) made me think of ways to create stories where people were stuck in awkward situations and would use their military background — or survival instinct — to get out of their situation. Within the plot device, there was always a cost, always a struggle. Although the characters always suffered, the events helped shape their personality. And when I reflect back on this memory, I’m surprised I didn’t stick with writing.

Sure, as a nine-year-old kid I couldn’t talk or communicate my ideas fully with others (which I later found out in life I was deaf in the bass frequencies, which may have played a part), but even now I still struggle with this concept. Imagine if you had knowledge of particular things and knew how they could happen or work, but you couldn’t communicate that information coherently. Imagine being trapped in your mind understanding methodical and complex things that maybe you shouldn’t know, but you can’t explain it no matter how you try and form the words. I can tell you now that it’s extremely frustrating.

So while I was in this state of euphoria, sitting at my computer with a glass of bourbon by my side, I opened up a word document and typed one sentence at a time. I wrote what came to mind and kept on writing. Everything poured out of me as if the bottle of bourbon was sustenance for my immediate creativity. Even though I knew an intoxicated state could often open the third eye, or the pathways to incoherent thought, I continued writing for hours on end until my flatmate came home in the early hours of the morning.

Wondering what I was doing, they ended up reading what I wrote and enjoyed the short story’s progression, despite the basic spelling errors and poor sentence structures. After reading the story and discussing what they liked and hated, a hidden spark of creativity flourished. Little did I know that this creativity would lead me to many things such as changing my way of life and career path.

Fast forwarding through five years of my life, the obsession with my rekindled inspiration and desire to write helped me change who I am, and also helped me accept things such as depression and alcohol dependency (which I have way more control over). These were topics I never liked to accept, nor did anyone like to approach the topic. In the end, I found my own way and dealt with all the shit that plagued me, yet one of the biggest things that stuck with me was my self-doubt. It was always a bitch, but looking back, I have way more confidence than what I used to have. It also makes me feel like a better person.

Not only did my writing help me overcome the staleness of my creativity, but it also helped me discover who I truly am. Despite having a hard time communicating what I mean at times — and often times people misinterpret my intentions (I’m looking at you WPers) — at least with writing I have the freedom to place my direct thoughts into text. It’s helped me gain confidence in myself to discuss my thoughts and interpretations of the world. It’s definitely something I’d never thought I’d come to terms with, but making the changes proved worthy of investment.

For those who are reading this who have a similar struggle, a lot of this comes down to your own confidence. Remember to never stop learning and always ask questions. Observe everything around you and think about it with an open mind. And above all; if you need to talk to someone, don’t be afraid. There’s always someone around you who cares.