I need to get something off my chest. For the past three months I have been battling severe depression that has impacted me. I tried to use writing to get through it but the last three stories have fallen flat. Each story has hit him hard as they weren't well received and showed just how much I have angered and upset people since October. I have seen kudos and page views go down for everything I wrote and it's almost as if I don't exist anymore. I have nobody to blame but myself, I pissed off the wrong people and helped cause an uproar that deserved shunning and I have to live with the consequences.
I am a recluse by nature who take things seriously. It stings that I try to put my heart and soul into something but it just stopped being interesting to so many and now is just garbage that gets ignored. I keep being told to write for myself but when my blood, sweat, and tears go into something it hurts deeply that it gets ignored. It's telling me that what I write doesn't matter, I'm still the jerk who almost drove off a beloved author because I couldn't hold my tongue. It sucks. I really sucks.
It is further coupled with my constant jealousy over stories getting 200+ kudos in one day, with some getting 100 despite needing a lot of editing done to them. My own friend has gotten near universal praise and is must-read and I can't help but feel pure jealousy and fight tears at seeing success that I'll never see. I hate it that I can't post a single story without it getting several people to point out a glaring error but I see stories getting applauded and getting over twice the kudos despite a lot of editing needed. Hours spent typing gone down the tubes, what's the point of trying to edit if it's just going to get thrown back at me while others get praise. It's jealousy but it stings badly that I have fallen so much that I'm not even worth reading anymore but others are must-reads. It's tear inducing and I have fought crying so many times I lost count.
Two months I have been wallowing in my self-pity. I can barely function and if not for being forced to move by my sister's cat demanding foot, litter changed, and that I turn on the air conditioning I wouldn't have reason to get out of bed at all.
It got worse today as I finally tried to plot out a story idea I had been mulling over for three months. It was going to be my first true fiction story, one not based on anyone or anything that I knew. I was hoping to do something new but I saw a name that caused me to see that my story was too similar to several of that author's stories. So I have to throw it in the trash. She has a lot of herself in her story, my attempt to write something that has a similar premise is insulting to her and I can't live with the ridicule of her taking offense and rallying friends against me. I can't chance it, I have to toss the story in the trash and try to find a different story.
Two months of planning goes down the drain. That is in addition to my normal Winnisimmet Tales stories being ignored. You can see why I feel like crap. I hope that I can get out of this soon but if I can't I might just give up entirely. The inner pain isn't worth it anymore, the passion is dying. The few who actually do care will understand, the rest will just see this as another Efindumb trying to get attention. So be it.