What Am I even Doing?

Some days i wonder if i am actually a good writer. It has never been something i thought i should be “good” at or make a living out of, just me conjuring up words to explain the voices in my head to myself and piecing things together but recently, i have thought about it more often than not. I am not a conventional person, very far from it and sometimes the way my mind works scares me. I would always be referred to as “weird” or “deep” when i was younger and it felt like I couldn’t easily connect to others so i wrote everything, anything as a way to process and decided i do not mind being this person. Being vulnerable is not my strongest suit and i would feel an overwhelming amount of guilt whenever i let my guard down so writing, putting my thoughts down on paper for scrutiny and criticism feels like i am baring my soul to everyone reading this. Naked.

I realize that is how every artist feels. This is the first time i have ever referred to myself as that because i thought that being an artist involved creating a master piece each time you decided to create something from the depths of your mind but in reality, its just you letting people into your head to see what you are thinking and depict it from their own perspective. Allowing your mind flow and release the beautiful, painful, nuanced, flawed parts. The truth is, everyone won’t see your work through the same lens but that won’t stop it from making them feel something. That is the reason why i write, to evoke an emotion whichever it is.