I can tell a horror story about each one of these persons and blame them for how they thwarted me on my journey to becoming an artist, that when I needed the gentle word of encouragement and comfort, instead, I got slashed with the blade of a knife. They all hurt me in their way, but it was also a test. I am supposed to rise above what they told me in their personal opinions. I find that I still put too much stock in people’s opinions, but much less than before. The scales are tipped in that the side that weighs more heavily is the belief in myself, versus other people’s negative comments.

Horror story. I believe I will go with my college best friend, because I don’t think I ever truly let that scar heal. She and I are so alike, and yet, so different. And as the years go by, we become even more different. I used to show her my stories, way before they were ready, way before they were even completed, in their roughest form, and she would slash them to death and then voice her criticisms to me. It was always under the guise of telling me “the truth”, but the ironic thing in this exercise was that it never taught me to become a better writer. It just made me a better critic. I slashed other people’s pieces the way she did mine, but I never became a better writer. Instead, I would inwardly cringe, hide the draft away and never finish it. I didn’t know how to polish and revise my own stuff back then. And it made me more afraid than ever to show my stuff to someone else.