Why am I such a coward?
(Originally, I used the word “pussy” before I realized pussies are actually quite powerful pieces of anatomy. Also, the word is misogynistic. Personally, I don’t want to see “pussy” used as an insult any longer; it should be a term of one’s bravery and courage. How about we make a campaign to reclaim pussy? The same that was done with CUNT.)
What do the shadows of my mind have to hold against me? It’s like blackmail to keep me imprisoned.
What am I so scared of?
Failure? Success? Accountability?
Is it the depression? Is it the jaded bitterness in me?
I. Don’t. Know. Anymore.
(I’ve sat at the computer staring at the monitor wondering what the fuck should I say for the past 20 minutes.)
It’s a fear of Death.
I kept worrying about wasting time towards something I have no control over, other than the material I produce. But I have no control over the popularity, over whether I’ll be successful, or if it will be all for naught.
What if I spend my entire life going down one path and I regret it all?
I used to say I never held any regret because I didn’t want to be one of those people who lived a life of regret. But there’s a lot of regret. I fucked up a lot. I ignored advice and I wasted so much time.
The entire photo above tells me to ignore that fear, ignore the regret, and do the things I know that will make me happy.
It’s time to enjoy life and “[not] waste that shit.”