This time? I thought it was going to work. After battling through years of empty excuses and studying my “social-media-awkward” ass off, I was going to make it happen. With a glass of wine in hand, I built a Tumblr, Twitter, blog and Instagram. I created a general theme between them, holding a knife to the throat of my inner perfectionist, telling her over and over “You have to start somewhere, you have to start somewhere”. Start I did, and once I finally splayed myself over four different platforms, I stared at each naked profile and blinked… then sipped some wine… then blinked again.
They say you can lead a horse to water, dress it up in galaxy banners and a search the shit out of themes, but you can’t just expect posts to show up.
Or something like that. Doubt and fear have been at the reins of my life for far too long, and even with a great push to overcome them, I found myself staring at those reigns and realizing that I forgot how to use them.
Writing used to come to me like watching a waterfall when you have to pee. Inspiration was everywhere, and I could not wait to let it out. I was so bad, I got my notebooks taken away in school, replaced with a detention slip (by parental request). I worked on stories instead of notes, homework, and social climbing. Writing was my life. I was sure I was going to be a writer. I had been given so many compliments from teachers and instructors. I felt it in my blood. Alas, life always has its own plans.
Depression is a thief and a liar. It takes your confidence then tells you that you never had it.
Now here I am, thinking I am taking a great whack to the beast and realizing I am swinging with a twig. The ever-flowing story well has dried up. What I called my magic ability fizzled and popped and produced nothing the more I tried to use it.
So, I stopped trying and wrote this post.
But a post is a post, and it means my blog is no longer naked.
My name is Kyla J. Braymer, and despite the lies I sometimes still believe, I am a writer.
Welcome to my blog.