Even though I’d rather nail my head to a wall than read my reviews, the urge to see how badly people think I suck is overwhelming.
I want to look at my reviews on Amazon and Goodreads and it’s kind of killing me inside. I’m not wanting to see the good ones (though I do really appreciate those!), I want to see the bad ones because I have this sick desire to read how awful people find me/my books.
Previously, I’ve had HORRENDOUS reviews, I shan’t write them here because my therapist tells me it’s not good to dwell on the negative (though I am fucking excellent at doing so). And also I want to seem like the bigger person and that the words of total strangers don’t affect me. Though of course, I don’t think I care about anything more.
But I think this sordid fascination to see how ghastly my books are is just my anxiety and depression looking for fuel to feed on. But they don’t need more fuel, they get enough negativity from the voices inside my head, thank you very much.
Me wanting to read my reviews to see how bad they are is like me wanting to eat celery to see how badly I’m going to gag. It’s really rather silly.
And what is it that I’m going to do with these reviews? Am I going to use their feedback constructively? Am I bollocks. I don’t see how I can use the comment “devoid of any wit, utterly terrible” constructively. Unless I print it out to shove it up my arse when I get diarrhea.
What To Do About It…
When I get these moments where I feel too weak to stop myself from reading my reviews, I try to channel my inner Kathy Burke, my inner Chelsea Handler, my inner Donald Trump. Do you think he gives a fuck what people say about him?
You could argue that perhaps he should, but that sort of inner confidence is #LifeGoals!
My Mum says that you care less about what people think as you grow older, but I’d like that part of the aging process to hurry the fuck up, please.
If I’ve got the ability to grow a shit ton of grey hairs out of my head at age 31, I’d also like the ability to not give a damn what people think about me, please thank you kindly.
Things I could be doing instead of reading my reviews:
- Standing by the road and shouting at BMW drivers for no apparent reason
- Seeing how many nose hairs I can pluck before I want to smash my face through a wall
- Re-familiarising myself with Pythagoras’s theorem (it’s been a while)
- Watching my guinea pigs live a more fulfilling life than I
- And absolutely anything else…
Now that I have written down how I feel about reading my reviews, hopefully, I won’t actually go and read them.
Instead, I’m going to distract myself with this family-sized chocolate trifle and a Fran Lebowitz documentary. Do you think she gives a fuck what people think of her?
She does not.