Writing is My Release

Many writers are socially dysfunctional to some degree. In the extreme, Edgar Allan Poe, Franz Kafka, and John Keats experienced bouts of depression and lived rather miserable lives, yet managed to churn out classic pieces of literature. No doubt, writing allowed these men to escape their demons, if only for a few thousand words at a time. But not so extreme are those writers who merely have a difficult time interacting with people in face-to-face situations. Writing presents an escape for these individuals as well.

I have discovered through communications with fellow writers at Associated Content that many of them are generally shy and introverted people, yet, based on the articles they produce, I would never have guessed that to be true. But then I remember that my public persona and my writing rarely match up. The Frank Mucci most people see is not the Frank Mucci they read, yet the Frank Mucci they read is in many ways closer to the real me.

I am not nearly as screwed up in the head as the great Poe, but I am by no means an extrovert and I am rarely comfortable in most social settings. And it has taken me years to even climb to this point because as a child I was agonizingly shy. I hated school because I never felt like I fit in. I'm sure most of my fellow students thought I was just an ass who was too good to talk to them, but I was simply an ass who was far too shy to talk to them. Social interaction caused great anxiety and I dreaded speaking in class. I never participated in any types of student functions and had few friends. In truth no one, other than my family, really knew me.

What I did do very well was sit at my desk and daydream. My mind was always working; my imagination was always running wild. The reality of my extreme shyness was often too painful to deal with, so I escaped into a world in which I could be the person I, in many ways, was but couldn't publicly present. My thinking skills were fine; my social skills were nonexistent.

Through the years, I have managed to learn how to function in society as if I were a fairly normal person. I've had to push myself to do so because as an adult, you have to learn to play the game if you don't want to be left in the dirt. It is important in the workplace to be able to communicate with managers and coworkers. I'm still not comfortable with it, but it is something I have to do, so I engage in small talk and try to at least maintain friendly relationships-if not friendships-with my coworkers. I have also had to speak, on occasion, before large groups of people and, despite the anxiety, have come away alive and kicking. Nevertheless, I am far more at home living in a world of anonymity. Nothing ventured; nothing lost.

But, short of becoming a hermit, anonymity is impossible, and while learning to function in the real world, I soon discovered that alcohol could help me reach a comfort level in social situations. Despite the image I have built for myself in many of my articles, I am not an excessive drinker, but I do like my beer and it has often aided me at what otherwise would have been painful social functions. Had beer been served at my high school, I would have been a much happier student. Drinking can knock down barriers and provide false courage, but it has its obvious drawbacks for individuals who are unable to know when to say when. Fortunately, I have never had that problem.

A Psychologist could probably make a lucrative living just trying to figure out what the hell I am about. But knowing myself better than anyone, I would say that both fear of failure and fear of rejection have played a major role in my shyness. Why those fears exist is for a shrink to figure out, but I am sure they are there and I have had to learn to deal with them in my own way. And that is where writing comes in.

The beautiful thing about banging away at a keyboard is that I am able to be whoever I want to be. I can escape whatever it is that holds me back and let my brain throw up onto a blank screen. I can express myself in a manner I could never feel comfortable with in public. I can take the time to plan out my thoughts and word them exactly as I wish. I can cut and paste and edit my work. I can read and re-read and make sure the finished product is, at least in my mind, perfect before publishing. There is no immediate feedback, there is no body language, and there are no blank stares, simply words on a page to be judged by the reader without my presence. Failure and rejection? How would I know? Writing allows me to express my ideas without intruding upon others. My audience is not forced to read my words and can stop and move on at any time-just as you may have already done.

It took me a long time to discover my love for writing. All along, as I struggled through life trying to express myself verbally, residing inside my head was a writer waiting to bust out. The depraved ramblings I now put down in words, the sometimes dark thoughts I now express, the creativity and humor I now present have always been there. The forum, however, was not. Writing is my release, the crazies are free, and I am no longer frustrated.

So who is the real me? I'm never really sure. I am not completely the person my coworkers see who quietly does his job, follows all the rules, and never causes trouble. Nor am I totally the "What is it and Where did it Come From" whack job who engages in nights of binge drinking and sex with other men's ladies-although that would be damn fun! I think I'm probably somewhere in between. But without my writing, I'd be hopelessly stuck in the world of the first guy constantly wishing I could be more like the second guy. And that would suck.