The World Needs Your Voice

There is no such thing as a “wannabe” writer.

September 5th, 2017:

Christ, I used to be so dramatic. I still am, actually.

A year ago tomorrow I was sitting at the dark wood desk that used to be my grandmothers, still living at my mom’s house at the time and letting myself decompose in a swamp of mental illness. It was early morning and I was scribbling that excerpt into my flowered journal, feeling supremely sorry for myself. At the time I had only been working again for about a month and its not an exaggeration to say I was struggling with it, because I’m always struggling with it. I was also particularly depressed over my significant lack of talent and contributions to this world — at 24 (almost 25) I had done nothing with my life and given nothing to the world at large. I had no friends, no degree, no long term job or even a job history. Nothing but thousands and thousands of dollars binged and purged, as well as immeasurable levels of my own potential flushed down the toilet. Figuratively and literally.

This lifestyle did not breed creativity. It left no room for growth, and after having lived that way for so many years I was convinced it was all I was and could…

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