Ramblings of an inwardly old fool.

I've been thinking about so many things nowadays. In a certain way i'm regressing, think about it as walking through a never ending line of doors and rooms in unutterable darkness with the haunting whispers of things awakened from the dead that are always terribly familiar. All of this in the hope that somewhere along it all i will find out how to fix what is wrong with me. For some reason i have been thinking about my literature teacher a great deal lately and i don't know why. She did like my work somewhat at some time but she said that i was 'lost in translation' , running the race with both my hands and feet tied, that i was 'holding back', that she didn't know how to help me. I would just look at her blankly, how could i explain that my interpretation of poetry or my analysis of a character had nothing to do with my literary skills at all. How could i tell her that every ion in me was so damaged that my so-called writing suffering was perhaps the most insignificant after-effect. For a while i thought her transient beliefs regarding Bakhtawar Azam could save me. But as it turned out, we were both incapable of it.

I've wanted to write a book since i was 6, had all these ideas that it would be a bestseller, that the whole world would see that i'm good, so good at what i've been taught to believe i can do. My head is spinning. And it hurts all over and recently even eating has become a chore. I feel so done and whatever ambitions i had i've put them on some shaky footing hoping the future will magically take care of them all, completely without my involvement. Save your censure, for i'm embarrassed and disappointed and most of all so goddamn angry i want to run my head through a solid wall... and in the end the only person i can point my finger at is that sad little girl in the mirror who is wondering why she hasn't gotten struck by lightning yet. I realize that i'm in the race regardless and for the long haul and i can run it being afraid, threatened, vulnerable, and haunted or i can run it facing my fears with my head high and failing in some poetic way in the end. The second sounds better, this is precisely it, i always know what the right thing to do is, i do and i do that thing 95% of the time but what if i can't this time around? I don't like myself talking like this but for years all i've done is pace back and forth, yap to myself, write down on little pieces of paper what the solution is...what the process is, build little walls around myself - that is not entirely metaphorical by the way. I'm what is known as a rational, rationals you see according to some tests are the rarest normal personality type on the planet. Maybe i'm waiting for some happily ever after that will never happen, i thought i was brave, i thought i was a lot of things but i've got some of the concepts wrong.