I feel like a kid pushing around her potato salad on a plate, no matter how much I adore potatoes I just can't bring myself to eat. It's the same way with writing right now. I love writing, everything about it and I don't care what it is, it makes me feel like I have a voice, a stronger one then my actual speaking voice and through this voice I have found myself. When the depression kicks in however I find myself blank on ideas, going towards that edge of writing something and never taking the plunge into the creative waters I know in my heart is where I belong, swimming merely along with the other writing spirits. I've been fully enjoying my writing course and doing tons of writing research but have been ignoring my novel, it's a great story at least I think so and it's starting to take shape in my mind but for the life of me I've been playing around my muse and letting my ideas get dusty inside my mind. I think this has to do with my depression, it sucks out your drive and leaves you feeling like there is no tomorrow which in a way should be true, you should really only look to today and make the best of it but in a world where your mind, hormones, and chemical imbalance make you feel like there is nothing but the dark to whisper into your ear and tell you all the bad things you have ever heard about yourself in your life is true, the voice that says your dreams will never come true. I have a hard time contorting my inner self, my thoughts and staying in touch with both my Muse and my Me. Sometimes I just feel like sleeping, sleeping for ever though my dreams have been nothing but odd other versions of my life which I make up in my mind.
I want the courage to move on from this point of seemingly no return, I want to feel the sun on my face, I want to go for long walks, I want to visit a beach and I want to feel inspired, feel driven and moved, feel the blood in my veins and my chest trying to cage my heart in before it explodes from beating to fast. I feel too much I am told, I feel too intensely and I feel without thinking things through. These are things I don't understand and feel I cannot help. What I think and what I feel may be two different things but for the most part I believe they are me and similar as possible, but in reality they are torn and apart. As much as the intensity seems to come out I want the feels to be real, I'm tired of fake friends, fake people, fake emotions and fake sympathy. I want to learn, I want to breath and I want to feel free from the doubt and darkness that hinders my being. I'm not sure really where to go or where to start but I think I know a lot more then I thought I did. My answers will come and as hard as it is I will stay some sort of positive in this life time of mine. There are many things I love, I found them and I see them every day. Love is more then a feeling it's a bond between you and the things that make life spacial. It's not just between one person and another it's the objects that make you feel comfortable like a blanket or an old chair you'd never be able to climb out of on a lazy day no matter how much you tired. Music is love for me, so are books, so is food, air and me. I am love and I am also the love I need. I need me more then anything or anyone else in the world because if there was no me then that would be in end. I think that scares me more then I ever knew before because finally I didn't care about me but now that I do? I'm terrified of life and of death at the same time so here I am standing still.
