One of the prime setbacks in the way of me being more of a success is the fear of me being more of a success. If I were assigning a point value to the sides of success I think that fear would be two against one. 

The fear that my pride in my work might not actually reflect the quality of my work. I think it’s good and #shareworthy and my expectation is that others would feel it was an enjoyable read. 

I want to share and be praised. I seek the constant admiration and respect that I think my writing could bring me. 

Unfortunately, without this kind of confirmation, I have to realize there is potential that I am completely wrong and that my writing and my writing style itself may not be good at all, or at least not as good as I think. I am well experienced with reading other people’s work that I’m sure they were proud of and coming to the conclusion that their pride was unjustified. I could be the same. 

I refer to this as the William Hung syndrome perhaps unfairly to William Hung but the truth of the matter is, we are not the best judges of ourselves or our work. To truly have self-esteem, many of us need to have at least the most basic of external confirmation. 

If we do not share our ideas and our work, we naturally assume that they are perfect or at least decent. It is through the act of sharing that we learn whether this is true. That’s why it’s a risk and I’ve made it quite far in life believing that I am good so the risk of learning it’s all been a lie is quite terrifying. 

I’m uncertain how I would react in the short-term or the long term but discovering that I’m the only fan of my work could stop me from doing it and remove that joy from my life forever. 

To others it might be the start of a new phase of life where they work to improve but when you’re self-impression is that you’re already perfect, improvement is a weird concept. If I don’t know what other people like except to know that they don’t like me or my work, I fear it would be impossible to caser to them without a long period of disappointment for both of us. 

It’s a deep-seated reason to live inside my head and not share what I think is good. I do not risk finding out I’m not as great as I think I am. It took me more than half my life to be content with not being very cool or great to a point where it’s more like if you don’t think I’m great that’s your problem not mine. Ideally I think people are happier somewhere in the middle. They don’t strive to be perfect so they’re not living in a constant state of fail like I am. 

I’ve even adapted to detect the slightest of facial expressions as rejection. To mask much of who I am to keep everyone smiling. I bury what I consider to be the treasures of my writing in between three or four blog posts where I talk about staying up all night using drugs for 3 or 4 days in a row. They act like a beware of dog sign on a home that only has cats. Stay away. Do not come and read the things that I treasure and burst my bubble by complaining about them or pointing out glaring errors I hadn’t noticed because I don’t often proofread my own work. 

My wall of emotional protection and pride unfortunately has been built so strong that it locks me in as much as it blocks others entry. I stay inside and interact with the world through my handheld device. This is true now more than ever because my isolation has declined. It started when I got rid of my car and then my home and then my city and then my friends and then I abandoned absolutely everything and move 4,000 km away with none of my possessions except my favorite fork and my cell phone. 

In fiction I might be portrayed as a man living in a tower with only a window to see the world. In reality I’m a man living on a farm 30 minutes from the nearest Walmart or chocolate bar and my only window to the world is my handheld device. 

And somehow I still perceive myself as perfect and stop anyone who might try to convince me otherwise by only sharing that things they’re allowed to complain at because I’ve cherry picked them as my worst qualities. 

Stay away. I’m a drug user. You wouldn’t like me anyway. I’ve made that my safe first impression. As far as drug users go in the perceptions of the public, I’m above average and not scary. I’ve convinced myself that first impressions are all about who you stand next to in the lineup. 

It’s the first of many human tests you must pass successfully while I overthink admitting you to my inner circle. It’s set up to fail for both of us.

Pride rating for this post; undecided