Many people ask me why most of the things I write are sad. Well, that’s how you start writing. Diamonds are made under pressure. A lot of pressure. So, I also started writing when i was in my lowest and unhappiest stage. When there was absolutely no-one who could look into my eye and tell me that they understand what I am going through.
So, When people ask me why sad stuff?? I tell them, “I’ve got clinical depression. An anti- happiness DNA.” I mean, I don’t sell happiness. I don’t write about Christmas lights and mistletoe. Well, i do write about falling in love but you get it right?
I tell people when they ask something about people enjoying other people’s misery. We’re all very into fiddling for a next big heartbreak and tragedy, scanning the scandal and watching people from a comfortable distance. Writing about how bad you feel, every now and then but that’s it!
I get it. I feel same way. I love listening sad stories,like come tell me how he broke your heart or how she walked all over your loyalty. I love listening to sad songs, overthinking lyrics and crying with book characters. It’s our guilty pleasure. We all find comfort in it. It is, after all, something universal. The feeling of loneliness, of fear, of melancholy.
When I write happy things, no one cares. Noone comes up to me saying how they loved knowing that i had a great birthday or send me any emails. Well, I care, but they don’t!!! Which is okay because I’ve always been just self-obsessed enough to get enjoyment out of what I do, regardless of if others seem into it. I am wired that way but my readers seem to disagree with me.
The reader wants to feel understood. They want to feel better about their own pain, so they go searching for those who share. Or those who have it worse. I write something weepy about an ex? Oh, they go nuts. The crowd freaking roars. But it’s unifying. It’s validation that they’re not alone.
Happiness doesn’t need that kind of validation. Happy people are just..happy. There’s no need for someone to package it back to you. But sadness is a cruel step sister who doesn’t cooperate and tries to put its freaking fat feet in everyone’s shoe.
So internet is oasis for people like me who thinks our misery will be the end our life but internet shows us other way around. It tells us that there are people miserable than us and they made it so we will too. Or maybe we are just a bunch of cruel people, Maybe……
People tell me to write about them and some tells me not to mention them.
I say, “Okay.” I don’t go begging them for a story.
But I do think about what they meant. Only later do I realize how stifling this is. I never set out to hurt anyone or embarrass them through my words. Never do I write to be vindictive.
Still, I have a story. Am I not allowed to share that? Am I not allowed to speak it out loud? Am I not allowed to use place i have got?
I catch myself pausing before letting my fingers hit the keyboard. Rewriting words, reading different blogs and trying to understand if they also said “Okay” and let their story go every time someone said “No”.
Well probably not, else there won’t be so much to read.
People who ask me not to mention are still reading my writings. I know they are still checking in. I know they are looking for one foul play. These are the people who invest their energy on me.
“Don’t write about me.”
This is the internet writer’s dilemma. What do you do when your passion involves sharing your life? What do you do when writing provides you solace?
Should you sugarcoat? Where is the guidelines? How much should you say? What should you keep locked inside?
I don’t have the answers. I am constantly second-guessing myself.
We don’t always write about the people who flatter themselves thinking we do. We don’t always shine a spotlight on everyone we meet. On contrary to what people think, not everyone leaves imprint in our life.
First and foremost, we are creators. We create magic and wonderlands and hope for people who invest their time reading what we have to offer. We wrote poems on napkins. We constructed songs in backseats. We wrote love story on bench and notebooks.
I mean i am a old school hypocrite.
I’m a professional over-sharer. I always have been. I extrapolate my feelings. Sharing is just part of me. Just who I am.
Who cares what people are saying about what I write? As a child, I was taught to share. I was told it’s an incredible gift. And I still choose to think like that.
I’m a professional oversharer. An internet writer. An avid reader.
I would continue to tell my story as long as I live.
Until next time 🙂
-XoXo
Alisha
Aleesa Thapa 