How many conversations does it take to fix a person?

Five. That's the answer. Five people at least in my case. Over the last two weeks, I've been a compact example of what "instability" means. Ask Plosk and he'll tell you something I pride myself on is my ability to keep a level head. Then my writing self had a melt down. My novel became the enemy and I wasn't able to look at it without feeling unworthy, small, and insecure. It was the worst I've ever felt about my capabilities as a writer.

I spoke to multitple people about my feelings. My prof, Plosk, Alice, Brian, and finally my old prof. Each helped give me a bit of perspective. But it wasn't until I met with my old professor that the dam broke. "Embrace your writer self." We talked about why so many writers are "unstable" in so many ways. Why we turn to alcohol, suicide, depression, pills etc. I don't even think I'm saying this right but I feel the need to say it. I have "issues." More than Plosk even though he's six years older than me. Some are from outside forces, like cancer, and some are self inflicted and more personal. The chains that no one puts around us, but that we lock ourselves into. I realize this sounds a little silly. Especially because I'm not being specific. If you ask me in person, I'll tell you what my big realization was about, but it's not for the public consumption of a blog.

I left my meeting with my old prof and I wrote for a good long while. I laughed when I got home and spent a lovely valentines day with Plosk. I felt excited about what I had learned. I haven't felt that kind of break through in a long time. But now I'm just going on about something I won't even name, so it seems a bit wrong to keep yapping. I'll just say that I'm happy and excited. I'm moving forward again. At least it feels that way.