The Stories We Tell Ourselves

Stories. The ones we tell ourselves, about ourselves. The ones we tell others about who we are, or used to be. Stories. Without them, the world would be perfect, for this terrible hunger inside us would not exist; the urge to be defined, to be more than who we are.

Stories. Without them, we would be nothing, have nothing.

Sometimes I can almost hear the sound of my soul crushing under the weight of a terrible destiny.

I am a writer because no one ever bothered to listen to me tell my story. Because I could never live the story that I so desperately needed.

I wrote and I wrote and I wrote…

I punched those damn keys, and wished that my stories would, somehow, someday, come true. But they never did. Not even once.

The bitter truth is that a writer is a bunch of different people inhabiting a body, and he never has the guts to choose one path, one destiny.

I am a bunch of opposites.

Lately, I have felt that I have lost myself. I feel trapped inside this cage. I feel like I have told myself that I have come to love this cage. The story I tell myself about myself.

Who am I? Why?

Who are you? How often do you ask yourself this question? How often do you adjust your sails on this great sea of life?

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Any amount matters, especially now, as I work on completing two different project.


  1. Cristian, hmm. You ask a terribly deep question.

    Simple put, a so-called writer is a f*cked up human being, creative, but wasteful.

    A writer would often ask; why am I writing? Is this me? Am I fulfilling my dreams? Or am I just lost in some language or some dream of being a bestseller or something?

    I feel being an author is not for every writer. But everybody has the right to express themselves in whatever way; literature, painting, music, boxing, racing, whatever.

    Some paths in life you take to really actually people and some paths you take for self expression.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. When I was reading this post I felt like I was experiencing some sort of deja vu. Especially when you said, “The bitter truth is that a writer is a bunch of different people inhabiting a body, and he never has the guts to choose one path, one destiny. I am a bunch of opposites.” I felt that on a personal level.

    With that being said, I would always ask myself that question and I could never figure it out. The only response I can possibly think of is that I am who I need to be for now. This life of mine has given me many experiences that brought me to where I am today and gave me the knowledge to know where NOT to go from here. That may be a bad response but it’s all I have in the tank right now lol

    Liked by 2 people

  3. oh boy does this post resonate. I have reinvented myself more than once (lighting designer/actress/comedian/stage mom/massage therapist/writer) The stress of the past year(s) nearly had me convinced that I’m NOT a writer and wondering just who I think I am….but I have stories to tell, and you do too. Hang in there, because I want to hear them!

    Liked by 3 people

  4. I have thought about this. I call them “life narratives”. Have had many but, as much as at some point I feel they’re “my story”, they wear out or wash out like paint with time.

    What I’ve realized is that I will never fully believe that I am one of my life narratives and that is why I shift so much and never stick to a “story”. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Things are in constant motion, change, contradiction, chaos…enthropy?… I mean, why would we be have to be so different from the universe?

    Liked by 2 people

  5. We write to answer the questions of who we are and why. Our true selves and our purposes in life are basically unknowable for anyone. Just asking these questions shows you’re farther down the path to finding the answer than most.

    Liked by 1 person

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