It's really quiet today. I can't hear anything, except for the silently-deafening tapping of my fingers hitting the letters on the keypad of my iPhone 7. I can't sleep either because my mind is racing like a dam that has penetrated open; thinking of all the things I want to accomplish in my life.
I'm 28, recently single, and still haven't found my life purpose. Am I destined to have a family someday? Or is my family, quite possibly, the audience in you that I desperately seek, so I can feed myself like the starving artist that I am.
Will I ever find love? Or is my entire life experience going to turn my heart so numb, that I will become a heart-breaking, energy-seducing vampire, who forgets the fragility of the heart because he forgot he had one. I refuse to accept that I am at my mid-life crisis simply for the fact that, the amount of alcohol I consume, combined with my smoking habits, is such a toxic concoction that if by some miracle I do make it to 56...I will never get to fulfill my desire to be a liver donor.
C'est la vie. That's life. For it wouldn't be life if it wasn't so hard would it? And it's never to late to find yourself. Maybe someday, this blog will get enough support to earn a nickel, and I'll end up a successful writer, driving down the dream-inspiring, dark and alluring, crowded streets of Downtown Toronto in Ferrari Spyder.
No matter what happens, I will always love writing. I remember the amazing English teachers I had in high school, that saw potential in a goofy but handsome, young foreigner, who had some sweet material. Whether I was the top of my class, or even someone who was going to be someone...someday...is beyond me, but what I do know is that Joker is wrong. If you are good at something, sometimes you should do it for free.
Take writing for example, I may never make anything out of this...but to sit here at 5 in the morning, writing into my diary, and then tearing the page out for the world to see, feels like I just lifted an anvil off my chest, and threw it away in memory of Charlie Chaplin's permission to make a fool of myself.
It feels really good. It's almost as if I need to do this. Because in spite of everything I've been through, writing has become my escape.
Tears become rain. Flames turn to ember. And the breath of fresh air will become carbon dioxide on the way out. Writing however, will always be writing. Rather than laugh, cry, or get angry, I choose to stay silent and write about the first few thoughts that come to mind. I'm not here to say the expression of normal emotions such as sadness, anger and joy are not good for you (in fact, research has shown expressing emotion to be highly therapeutic). I'm simply stating that I feel the need to let life's lessons push me further and further into the hellhole known as productivity.
So here I am, I guess you could say: "I'm home" but I never left, I simply turned my back on myself.
Here's to homecomings and new beginnings...believe me, no matter what we will make it. I will be writing even if I have no money, no love, and no friends. Because we need ourselves to make any of that work, so believe in yourself. Do what makes you happy. God willing, the rest will follow.
I love you.
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