So much of me wants to write incessantly. Passionately, madly, abruptly, by will and force. And yet I feel some days unable to conquer the energy to sustain myself. To sustain, more acutely, the vehicle for my personality. It gets harder and harder as the days go by to pull them into a collective and coherent stream of conscious, instead the months are beginning to be murkier and I am not functioning through writing. I am simply existing. Living and working to appease others while my efforts to refine this part of me goes by neglected. It’s lead to a difficult stage of my life – awkward, unproductive, unremarkable, twenty-five slumping into a disappointing adulthood. I know that perhaps this just may be the period where my “foot is in the door” but it is hard to see where the line is between where my foot is in and where it is caught. And whether or not I am on my way to a series of stumbles punctuated by a hard fall.

 I think the creative part of myself has withered consistently for the past year. Due to neglect, but also due to a crippling insecurity that has spread like a greedy parasite. It’s enveloped my being into non-action and banal neutrality, rendering parts of me cold and disposable. Too far into a nihilistic spectrum to even fathom what it would take to change. I do not like this. It feels like an impostor, like I am out of control within my own mind and body and am just waiting for some shred of mercy. 

 I am dissatisfied with the way I have gone about things in the last few months. Both career-wise and romantically. With each, I dove head-first and came an inch away to hitting pavement. I wanted for some reason to believe I was capable of being alluring, and yet instead I was the one who became forward and overtly strong.

I want to say that I just haven’t met the right “type” yet and that would be correct. Maybe I also need to start making changes. I worry about getting used to being so comfortable totally alone and later that might lead to some seriously bad habits. I think just too far ahead in relationships and can’t enjoy them when they are happening. I have a constant sense of worry and so much anxiety because I am not secure as a person, as a female. My focus wanes and I have so much trouble just getting through a conversation. I want to be so much more eloquent and confident with myself. Far more sturdy as a person rather than so quick to fall completely, both romantically and mentally. I want too much from men. Absolute adoration, devotion, worship. And I have to start understanding that I might just not be the type of woman to command that. Yet.