it's true, they're all right. there's no point to writing creatively if you can't write what you want. i'm trying to make peace with that. i feel it in my body when i try to sit down with what i want to say. it's not that anyone has to hear it, or maybe the people who wanted to listen are already here. or gone, maybe they had enough. either way, i long for the time where i am at peace with writing for myself more than any other thing. i started writing to understand life, now i write to understand death. the death that every time i try to face makes me fall deeper and deeper into a state of despair, from which i wish to come out but fail. it feels like the walls are slippery and i keep holding on to a hope that doesn't exist. there's something in me, though that asks me to keep writing, keep coming, keep showing up. the last thing you lose is your faith, regardless of how many pills you take. or how many hours you sleep. or who you love, fuck, kill, hate. none of that matters if you can't write your fears from the bottom of your bottomless soul because you're scared of what someone else my think. knowledge is a precious commodity and understanding oneself takes a lifetime (or more). my goal in life is to think i've not lived in vain.