This week is the start of November. This is the week that starts NanoWrimo 2019 where I have decided to write a memoir. I, a 27 year old female, has decided to write a memoir about the last three years of my life. I’m terrified. I’m embarrassed. I’ve already cried drafting out this book and it’s stories and am afraid of everything that will come from it.

I am always afraid of other’s opinions. I’m always unsure of myself. Others always seem to voice their opinions to me. What they think is right. Lectures. Lessons. Telling me I don’t know what I’m talking about. Telling me what I should do. Telling me I’m wrong.

I’m tired of sitting in silence as others talk over me.

But I’m still scared. A few things I’m scared of for this next month:

  1. Admitting more about my mental health issues than I ever have.
  2. Over explaining my complicated thoughts
  3. Coming across as a cold-hearted bitch
  4. Hurting peoples feelings/saying something that they never wanted me to reveal
  5. Coming across as selfish
  6. Losing the few friends I have in life
  7. Losing the last of my family
  8. Not finishing my book
  9. Sinking into negative thinking and actually doing more harm than healing in this journey
  10. Realizing I’m not worth anything
  11. Losing all the confidence I have racked up
  12. Not being interesting
  13. Finding I’m not as important as I think
  14. Not getting the job I want
  15. Getting that job and it being awful
  16. Fucking up the few new relationships I’m super excited about
  17. Realizing everything is my fault
  18. Getting overwhelmed
  19. Having perpetually puffy eyes
  20. Finding that nothing I’ve gone through and all the good I’m seeing coming into my life amounts to anything and I am just a sad child that has a gaping hole in my soul (something I’ve been told) and I can’t ever have the life I see others with

Now that I have that short subset of a list, I see that it sounds like a depressed person in fear of everything. Now I go off to write about the time coupled by my past three birthdays. The first when I decided I did not want to kill myself when I turned 25. The second that was one week after we buried my mother. The third when I thought I was on the perfect journey to happiness, but all this other shit kept happening, and somehow, 7 months into 27, I’m still telling myself that maybe the universe doesn’t hate me.

I’m so fucking scared.