There are often times where we weep at the foot of authority. The criticism given is much like the frost that covers the branches of even the biggest of trees; cold, but thaws over time. If there was any quick way to describe how it feels to have every miniscule idea shot down, it would have already been described. Writing about it now wouldn't have to feel like a necessity.
Have you ever sat down to a lecture and actually felt like you were being taught something of importance? Once, only a few years ago, I felt the weightlessness of not being bothered by the anxiety that comes from wanting to please others. Happiness in myself was all that mattered, but we all quickly conform to the suffocating feeling of someone gripping you by the neck wringing the life out of you. Even if it was just a singular moment, almost everyone has felt the need to please a public figure in fear of never being good enough.
What's worse is when you're extremely confident about something--say an essay or some form of formal letter--and you've turned it into your teacher. Now, a normal person who is learning at the pace the they should, and getting taught something new, should improve over time. Mistakes should gradually lessen throughout the years, not counting careless spelling errors. Making sure that what you've written is of acceptable quality takes a long time. After trying so hard to make everything understandable yourself, having someone pick it apart like the chicken off the bone is nearly heartbreaking. Now, I usually don't write a lot, I actually hadn't written in a very long time about anything that was generally important until school started up again this year. Feeling so generally sucked dry has never been a feeling I've had over writing. Ahead of my class ever since freshmen year, I was confident that I'd always be someone who would always impress others, and now I ask myself, "How dare they go easy on me?"
Everyone would compliment my writing. When we did peer edits to anything, I'd always be the first choice out of my friends, because I knew how to do it. Yes, maybe I was the loser that spent her free time roleplaying with miscellaneous strangers over various websites on the internet, but I thought it was doing something. Now I don't even know what I think about the whole thing. I've never had a real roleplay, something that lasted an expanse of time and came together as a story. No more than a couple thousand of words were exchanged before the partner would drop it, and so I've learned to do the same. Not start something and give somebody false hope, but I've given up. My passion for creative writing or writing in general has narrowed down exceptionally, and so I've lost passion for life.
