Letter to my Inner Critic

Dear inner critic,
Okay, that just sounds pretentious. Lets call you something else, like John, or Bob. No, those won't work either. They're too common, and while you are annoying, you are anything but common. Let's call you Shade.
So, Shade. I have a few things you need to hear, and I need to tell you.
This is it. No more. No longer will I allow you to lean over my shoulder and whisper things in my ear. No longer will I listen to the vitriol that spills from your mouth. If you have nothing nice, or at least constructive, to say, and you never do, then shut the hell up.
I have listened to you for too long. I have listened to you tell me that I'm not good enough, that everything I do is a waste of time, a waste of energy. That I should just give up. That ends today.
I will write shitty first drafts, and know they are crap because that's what a first draft is. But it's not all crap, and I can still find gems in the refuse. I have good ideas, I have good imagery and fantastic characters. I will no longer listen to you tell me that I don't. But sometimes I need the extra words, the "shitty" words to come out so I can find the good ones, the diamonds in the rough. That's what editing is for.
You are not an editor. An editor tells you what needs work, what can be improved. An editor doesn't read through what you have and declare it trash. An editor doesn't tell you that no matter how hard you try, nothing will ever be good enough. You are not an editor, and you are not needed, nor wanted, in my writing process.
You can leave. I do not need you in my life. I do not want your toxic breath to sear my mind. Take your shadowy form and depart. Get the fuck out of my life, now.
Goodbye Shade.
Sincerely,
Aimee Crisp