Writing and Dreaming and Reading...

A dilemma that I go through today is finding identity, a purpose, a peace of mind. I want to be spectacular, like a  lone star in the sky, like a diamond, like a sparkle, a shower of fireworks. A dazzler. A superstar. A somebody.

"I want to write!

It's that moment when you want to scream. The tightening in your chest at you rein your overflowing feelings in. It's that heartbeat when you suck in the air and harness the power of your emotions. It's the second before you let it out and let go. I want to write so much and spit it out into the world. Spew it out like colourful, volatile fireworks that burns awe at the same time scars and blisters your soul. I want to create a supernova, that when you leave it behind you'd be a black hole. I want to be your star. I want to, I want to be your fantastic dream that you never dreamed before. I want to leave glitter in your eyes that never fade. I want be your song, like the addictive beat and catchy expletives, that never never ever ends. I want to capture your laughs and tears and sighs with crazy. I want to inspire your love.

I want to be a writer."

But I am distracted.

"The insufferable need for human connection. Like a babe that cannot leave his mothers side, I pine for human connection. Especially every time I think of the life I'm treading, alone and in my mind. I stretch out for human contact, for human connection. And I fear that is becoming all the time. I resist, I musn't irritate my friends. And the fact is, I'm going to have to be alone for a long long time. Maybe even forever. And when I think of it (I know is) all my mind is filled is with despair."

There is just so much time alone. So much time to think, to feel. Sometimes it's not enough. Sometimes it's too full. Sometimes it's just too painful, the wreckege of emotions. Sometimes it's too embarressing, like an ugly gaping scar, a deformity. I have yet to figure out how to string it all together, make it pretty, make it nice. I haven't figured out how to write stories. An arcane amusement some might think. But I persist. Unlogically, I persist. The attraction to written word is absolute. It cannot be changed. It is who I am.