I have a love-hate relationship with writing. Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve to characterize myself as a writer; sometimes I think it's the only thing I can do reasonably well.
It's frustrating. Throughout my life, I've been searching for something I can do well, but I've found that I am, at best, mediocre in everything I've done: playing piano, saxophone, art. Everyone I know seems to have found a specialty in something, be it music, art, writing, schoolwork. A few years back, I realized I was good at writing. I would always get very high grades in English and history classes. A lot of my teachers through the years have told me that I am an excellent writer, and I show some promise. I remember writing many stories as a kid, too.
As I became more of a perfectionist through my early teenage years, I stopped writing all but academic essays. I became frustrated with my own fictional writing, so I stopped altogether. Apart from a short Harry Potter fanfiction-writing period in 10th grade, I couldn't stand reading my writing anymore. I think it started mostly from the fact that I started reading well-written novels extensively, and my perfectionist mind wanted to write like that too. Obviously, writing like that takes a very high level of skill that comes with intensive, consistent writing, as well as a bit of talent. Whenever I would try to write to improve my writing skills, I would realize that I couldn't write like that and get so annoyed I would quit. I would refuse to continue out of embarassment.
I know that maybe if I would just keep writing, I would eventually get myself out of this writers' block rut. But I can't. My writing skills outside of academics have deteriorated because of this, and it annoys me. I know that maybe if I would pull through, I could become a decent writer outside of academic essays.
A couple weeks ago, my former English teacher/current psychology teacher told me I write beautiful prose. I was so flattered that I vowed to attempt to start writing again. I think about writing again a lot now. I tried writing again last week with little success, but I'm remaining hopeful that maybe I'll finally pull myself out of this perfectionism and embarrassment and actually write.