I sometimes feel like I need to fight. Not against something. More like for something. Well, I take that back. It is against something. Myself. My brain. Or the sweet, sweet sensation with not being complacent. I always feel like I’m fighting. I’m that guy who always feels buried. Or I’m that guy refusing to move. To sit down. To be complacent. It’s because I’m afraid of what happens if I stop fighting. If there isn’t something to fight, to strive for–I’m one of those who needs to move forward. I hate going backwards, I hate regressing, I hate the confusion, the depression, the anxiety, the anger at myself, the overbearing weight in my own damn brain–I feel scattered, but strong. Resistant, but lost. Frustrated, but reaching. Weak, but still fighting. I refuse to stop. I can’t. I won’t. I refuse to stop fighting. Now, I just need to find my reasons.
It means everything to me. I love it. I never want to stop.
I won’t stop fighting. I won’t stop writing. And I won’t stop trying to get the writing thing right.
But things aren’t always easy. Life can be chaos. The process to be ‘successful’ can be painful.
I hope I get my answers. The scary thing to me is–
If that never happens. What does that mean for me? What does that mean for writing? What does that mean–
Maybe I’ll never know. In the meantime, I still have a few more ideas to jot down.

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