so blank. I cant even title this
Tuesday, Feb. 07, 2006 at 3:49 a.m.
I dont know what has happened here. Seeming like a lost cause. I dont write and you dont read. I just cant seem to find the words. The strenght. The motivation or the creativity. Too many people know of its exsistance.
Then of course it could be somethig else. Perhaps Ive just said all that I can say. How many times can the same thing be said before it gets old? How many different ways is there to say the same thing?
Writing isnt what it use to be to me. Have I come to the realization that everything I have written is shit? That no one cares. It's all thrown in a box; forgotten about. Read by no one anyway. Who did I ever think I was kidding...That someone would actually care someday to know my sorrows, my fears, my secerts, my experiences and thoughts in general.
I'd like to think that I was a half way decent writer not even a year ago. I was no Plath, no Hemmingway, no Palahnuik. But I wasnt trying to be either. And still something has changed. This just doesnt feel right anymore.
Who am I without my words? How else do I survive when already I suffer in silence? In silence and still my thoughts are ripped from my head. I am nothing more. Nothing.
I am nothing.
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