Life Is What You Make It…Right?

Just about every other day I have some sort of existential crisis. I don’t know if it’s because of my age or my OCD or what. I do know that there is some constant lingering feeling in me that I am not living up to my potential and I never will. That life is pointless anyway so why am I putting energy into anything. You get the idea. I’m sure a lot of people feel this way, especially now because of the pandemic so I’m not trying to be special but I’ve thought this many times before now. It’s just gotten worse as I’ve gotten older. The closer I get to 40 without any sort of success in writing the more I lose hope of ever having true success.

When I look things up online about life and things being meaningless or not, a lot of advice I read is that life is what you make of it. Live each day to its best. If you are unhappy it’s because you aren’t grabbing the bull by the horns and enjoying life. That you are in charge of your destiny and all that nonsense. Except, none of that is true. It may be true for some people but for the vast majority of us, it’s not. I would certainly be doing more with my life if I had the money and resources most people would.

Think of it this way. My dream is to live in a huge city like L.A or Vegas, a city where I’m more likely to make connections in the industry and have a better chance of selling or making a movie. People tell me to move out there constantly if I want a chance. If only it were that easy. I don’t have the money to relocate and I know I never will. I also don’t have the resources or contacts. The days of driving out to Hollywood and making it big on the off chance that you get discovered without any sort of referral are over. Even if I did know someone out there I don’t have the money to get there, and I even mean by car.

Me wanting to live my life to the fullest and to do all sorts of different things is very limited by what I have. For most people it is. There’s only so many times you can go for a walk and enjoy nature when your dream is to be writing and making movies. Making a living off of it. When you know, deep down, that your dream will never come true and everything you’re doing is just a band-aid on a gaping head wound. You wake up, you pretend there’s something resembling hope that every day is a new day and that you can find success but you know that you won’t.

Why am I still here? Why am I still trying? These are questions that I constantly ask myself and I don’t have answers to. I’m not so depressed and hopeless that I want to stop trying and I want to stop writing but at the same time I’m starting to realize the futility of it all. That the one thing I’ve ever wanted in life will never happen and is a completely unobtainable goal. That I’m pushing for gold when I need to learn to settle for bronze. I’m sure that I will keep writing and keep trying, keep clawing my way up and up until my very last breath but dear lord is it getting monotonous.

Also, for anyone who is “worried” about me or has the idea to tell me to seek therapy, I’m doing that. I have been for years. I’m also on medication. Pills don’t make dreams come true and talking about this specific problem doesn’t fix it. I can complain to a therapist until my face turns blue that I’m not a famous writer, they can’t fix it and it won’t make things any easier. I really am doing the best I can with the resources I’ve been given but sometimes you hit a wall. At this point, I have done everything I can on my end. I’ve written the manuscripts and screenplays, I’ve put myself out there, I’ve marketed and networked to the best of my ability and what I can do. It’s not like I wrote some stuff, did nothing, and expected to magically be famous. No. I’ve been out there, I’ve even pitched to producers. I’ve gotten some referrals but…the point is that there’s only so much one person can do before they need someone else to take the extra step, go the extra mile. Here I am, fully prepared with my stories and ideas trying to get them out there and it’s not working. Once again, I’m sure I’m not the only person who feels this way and I don’t think this makes me any better than anyone else who’s trying but…it’s an empty…empty feeling and I’m running out of ideas on how to deal with it.

Published by naudyvalentine

Romance and erotica author, horror and BDSM enthusiast, I write, live, and breathe variety as it is the spice of life.

One thought on “Life Is What You Make It…Right?

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