My Life as a Machine: Finding MY Voice

Fernando said that I don’t have a voice in my writing. I find that laughable in the sense that writing was the only hobby I’ve held on to since I was in fourth grade. Once I realized how true his words rang, the laughter died away and I was left with only one question in my mind: Why?

Technically, I write well. No grammatical errors and the transitional sentences are in the right places. However, I write like a robot. When I step back and suddenly face my own writing, I feel the urge to erase everything. “What’s wrong with me?” I think, and I can’t complete what I set out to do–to write a great article. But then, it gets stamped on.

As an artist and a poet/songwriter, writing should be easy. Maybe I’m psyching my mind out for making it harder than it really should be. Maybe I’m analyzing it too much. The problem must lie with who I am as a person. My friends think I’m a robot. When I admitted how scared I was of fire, combustible things, and balloons, they were surprised.

“It humanizes you, I guess,” my friend said one time. “You’re like a robot.” It was no different for other people. There’s this perfect image that people see in me, and I personally hate it. But I can’t change who I am. I am well-rounded. I am approachable. I am intelligent, confident, and ambitious. So how does all of that translate to being inhuman? I guess it’s because I’m good at too many things.

Honestly, I used to feel like I wasn’t human, like I couldn’t communicate with people because we weren’t speaking the same language for some reason. In eighth grade, I spent a year not talking to anyone. It was like being mute made me disappear and I was happy. I had no expectations on my shoulders. I was simply me, invisible old me. I was tormented in one aspect of my life during that time period, but I was happy when I wasn’t being judged. Writing felt natural then. I guess it was the only way I could speak to the outside world without having any real contact with others. I didn’t want to hear other people’s voices because they scared me. I already had so many thoughts, so many voices in my head, and I didn’t want anymore of them haunting my mind.

Maybe I really didn’t get over hiding away from the rest of the world. I mean, without other people, no one can judge me and no one can yell at me for saying something wrong.

Maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe I am holding back something, and I’m afraid to let it go because of the consequences. If that’s the case, I haven’t changed as much as I thought I have. Reality is, I am afraid of myself sometimes. I don’t readily tell people this. I’m scared of myself. I’ve purged a great deal of negative thinking from my self and I have controlled any anger problems I used to have. But no matter what I do, there’s this nagging side of me that’s dark. I’m scared of that person because I’ve seen this side of me come out, and I always hurt others when that happens. That side is the inhuman side of me–like the Sylar personality from Heroes minus the murderer–and she can definitely do some damage.

I’m wondering if that side is where my true voice lies. Maybe I haven’t fully found myself. After all, a voice is a significant part of you. If I have no voice, I can’t give anyone a straightforward answer, let alone, a dead-on editorial.

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