Living and creating without an audience

...is difficult.

I was always impressed with M's ability to tell a story, to make even the mundane interactions into something worth hearing. I envied that ability, and didn't share my own stories.  I am reading a blog by the energy worker lady, she is discussing her process of creating or rather reflecting -a sort of documentation of the self -during the writing process. I had a blog like that for a while.

I have a desire to be good at something. My confidence isn't very high right now. I wish I had an audience to impress, but I fear I would let them down, as I have let myself down.

I really want to write a poem about being a rebound, giving some substance to the impact of it. I am struggling because the reality is a thing falling, cracking apart and revealing less substance than was previously believed, a sinkhole that devours and not much more. So the poem is a lament. An ode to a thing that was not. A blueprint never truly constructed. A construction site... is it worth excavating?
And yet, I dwell.  I dwell on no one acknowledging it. I dwell on the lack of audience. This was a period of my life, and the only proof I have is an ache. I used to worry that something would happen to her and I would show up at the funeral a mess, and no one would know (so many signs that something was off). I want to make it a story. Something complete. Something that compels, something that makes sense and names the wound. Something that causes the audience to say, I see now, there was something there, and it fell away without warning, so you aren't sure in your steps anymore...

It was nice to have the aura reader ask if someone had pulled away suddenly.
It was nice to have my parents say that they saw it was genuine (if temporary).