This story is not a fun one. Straight up, it’s not. I was challenged a while ago to write what made me uncomfortable… what made me afraid. I didn’t know why at the time this challenge seemed too daunting of a task to undertake until it hit me. I was living the uncomfortableness that I was afraid to write.
Things have been going on with me that aren’t exactly thrilling, but I’m constantly fighting to make my life better. To fight my inner demons, or however the saying goes. Writing became something I couldn’t handle, so I needed to take a break from it for a while. I needed to find my way back to where writing was fun for me again. Where anything was fun for me again. And I’m nearly there. Through the love and support from my partners in crime and my stubbornness to never back down, I’m getting stronger.
This is a parody on being a writer with depression/anxiety. And it was hard for me to write. It won’t be mind-blowing, but I do hope it offers some insight on what it’s like to be in my head for all of five minutes. It’s the battle I’m fighting and it’s the war that I will conquer.
Names were based off of this Bible verse:
Ruth 1:20 “Don’t call me Naomi,” she told them. “Call me Mara, because the Almighty has made my life very bitter.”
Naomi means “pleasant.”
Mara means “bitterness.”
The Witch’s Curse
Once upon a time, there was a girl that forgot how to write. Her name was Naomi and it was her dream to share her stories with the world.
It wasn’t as if she’d forgotten the words, and it wasn’t as though all her grammar lessons had amounted to nothing. It was that her body and mind were placed under a spell, preventing her limbs and synapses from sitting down, picking up a pen or opening up a laptop, and creating something beautiful.
The witch at blame went by the name Mara. She was invisible, but had her eyes set on Naomi since she was a little girl. The witch had cursed her family with depression throughout the ages, making sure that no matter what hopes and dreams they had, they would never be accomplished. Or, if they did accomplish them, they would never be allowed to see the greatness they had achieved.
The curse hit Naomi earlier than most of her ancestral counterparts. Instead of waiting until she had something to achieve, it began when she found something she loved. Writing. Words. The power of a single sentence that could make a reader feel something deeper than anything else the shallow world currently provided. Crafting such magic became her passion; it soon became her burden. Continue reading