12th
eden
at least i’m not ordinary. i could search for hours for someone with something to say and find only the most mundane and trivial thoughts imaginable. so no one reads and fewer understand what i say and feel. i begin to think less of myself, not in my usual melodramatic way of distracting myself from my true flaws and weaknesses, but by looking honestly at who i am and what i want. i don’t know fully yet, but i must leave behind this neurotic desire to be discovered and adored. a fantasy of being showered with money for the privilege of a view of the mess in my head. not that i can’t be a writer someday, i still think the potential is there. but not as i am now. not for the reasons that have been driving me. wrapped up still in that old childhood fantasy i thought i had left behind. to be saved. to sit pitifully until god or my brother or some kind-hearted philanthropist looks on me and is moved to pick me up and carry me off to eden, where i would never have to struggle or worry again.
