Often the only thing I find solace in are the words that find their way onto the page.  The words on my page, the words that I write.  Sometimes when my emotions overwhelm me I yearn for a laptop and a quite corner where I can tap away and cry in solitude.  Despite friendships and relationships I believe we all have lonely days when average actions compel us to trust no one.  When it feels that there is only the push and wrenching of others who want, yearn, or prey on your peace.  

What was I thinking with self pity...more like self gratitude.  Recognizing the depth of our own wealth of emotions and realizing how much we’ve gone through.  We all experience pain and loss, exuberance and gaiety.  How can I judge a man, a man learning to be a man as I learn to be a woman, differently than I do myself?  How can I judge a child who doesn’t want to go to school when I myself have days of depression that keep me from working.  Days when my mind seems forever clouded and weary, not wishing for anything but the short distraction of my fairy tales.  How have I any right to say anything to him?

One thing I realized today was that no matter what happens in the future, writing as I do now has changed my life.  Writing has helped me not only to recognize my short comings, but it allows me to search my soul.  I know that my writings probably bore others.  I am probably telling just a bit too much about my depressions and negative feelings.  But I can’t stop.  Something inside me tells me that others must feel this way too.  I know that I’m not alone.  I’m not the only one who fights these thoughts and emotions.  I’m not a bad person for feeling this way, I simply question myself.  If I don’t share it, then I feel like I’m giving up on others who feel the same way I do.  I would be giving up on being honest to myself and the world.  If I don’t do this then the unknown ‘others’ have control over me, and I will succumb to my own fear.