It's funny. Two days ago, I was writing my first-ever book, and I actually felt proud of it. I thought that I was doing a great job, and I was genuinely more interested in the creative process than the eventual result.

Now, I'm sitting at my computer wondering if I should just give up because, if I'm being honest, the chances of me ever being recognized by anyone for my work are incredibly slim. I'm not going to be one of the writers who write series that have fandoms that span the entire world and have their works recognized as some of the best books ever written. I'll probably just end up as yet another person trying to make people happy and failing spectacularly. There are *thousands* of people each year who try to write a book, and most of them fail. Why should I ever think of myself as somehow being more worthy than them? No one'll care about my books. No one'll ever talk about how "awesome" or "perfect" anything I make is because they'll be too busy talking about actual skilled and successful people who actually made something worth caring about.

I hate feeling this cynical.  I know that I shouldn't be thinking like this, and I know that I'm just putting myself down, but I can't stop. I constantly go back-and-forth between deciding whether or not following my passions is even worth it. I just want to scream and rip my brain out of my skull but I can't. I just have to keep putting up with this B.S. until the day I die, I guess.