A blank page meets a blank self. Anything I had to say disappeared
All I seem to be able to relate is about myself. What on earth made me think that I was a writer? I'm driving myself to the edge of madness. Is that where I'll be able to write something? I have nothing in mind, no story, no plot, no characters, no anything. It was all suppose to come so naturally. This is like everything else in my life. It was just a big daydream. I wanted to write something honest. It takes more than that. I thought I could force myself. I always do. I thought I could take my fascination with myself and turn it into something interesting. Big mistake. I'm so screwed up. Is there any chance of getting beyond this to something real? I need to come up with something fascinating. It ain't happening. All I can write about is how I'm not a writer. All I can do is get down on myself. Negative I can do.