I didn’t want to write anything because I didn’t feel like I accomplished anything today. Instead, I stared at the jawline of a model on Instagram and texted my sister, “I wish I was pretty.” To which she replied, “you are.” But I still didn’t feel so.

I didn’t want to write anything because I feel like I have nothing good to say. I feel mean and angry and constantly confused in trying to figure out why. I might know why, but I certainly don’t want to face it.

Success is self-defined, right? The only person you’re competing with is the person you were yesterday. Yes, these cliches are true. They have withstood the test of time and we hear them constantly. Whenever I seek out advice, I am awashed with the same platitudes that leave me drowning in even more confusion. HOW DOES THIS APPLY TO ME?

Sometimes I don’t want to tell my stories because I don’t think they are worth hearing or listening to. I’m worried about judgment. I’m worried about the room I’m in. I’m worried about a future room I’ll enter that does not exist yet. These worries hinder me more than anything else.

I didn’t want to write because I don’t know what to write about or where to go or what to say. I feel this in all facets of my life; doors that lead to nowhere, doors that take me back, doors that throw me forward. And then, I’m stagnant, going absolutely nowhere with no direction.

My life is boring to me and a complete mess to others. I know its a dumpster fire that compels even the least interested to stare, albeit for two seconds and then click away.

And then I remember who I read and what I look for, which is always the comfort in not being so damn alone in this world. I want the stories of bad dates and heartbreak and why when your dog dies, it feels like you lost a limb. I need these stories. And I think other people do, too.

So spare me your success story and the ‘10 Instagram rules…’ that make us all feel like shit. Give me truth. Give me mundane. Give me boring. Give me something that makes me feel less alone. I’ll do the same.