I write. A lot. Or, more accurately, I try to. I'll go through phases of outputting 5 poems a day and a short story a week for a few months, and then I'll not write anything for a long time. Or I'll work tirelessly on one thing until I feel it's complete, and I enjoy it... for maybe a few hours.
And then I have to destroy everything.
I think it's abysmal. I think it's purple. I think it's dull or trite or convoluted or derivative and I absolutely abolish all traces of my work. Over the years I must have lost 300 poems and 50 stories because I can't get over my crippling self-destruction via self-criticism.
Everyone I show my work absolutely loves it, but they're my closest friends in the world, and despite knowing they would always be absolutely honest with me, I always assume they're lying to make me feel better about my work. There's no way in hell I could bring myself to show it to others outside my small group, and certainly no way I could release it online, even anonymously because I have a fear that someone will know it was mine and I have no idea why I'm even afraid of that.
Seriously, anything you guys do to assuage this would be greatly appreciated.