Random Post Sunday: The One In Which My Mind Is A Mess

I used to love writing. NO.

I used to write a lot. NO.

My mind is a mess.

Back in high school i was sure what i wanted to do with my life. Everybody knew i was about to be a writer. There was no doubt, i had a way with words, they just flowed through me to the paper, i was going to be a writer.

It’s been a while now since i finished high school, and even though it took me more than the average person because of illness, i never wrote a book.

It’s not like i wanted to be published or something, i just wanted to put my ideas on a paper and read them to myself. That’s all i really wanted.

But those days are gone now. (And i’m having a deja vu).

I remember having a clarity for words growing up, i knew how to arrange the words to give them the best use. I could develop one idea into a lot of pages, like in exams and stories.. words were part of me.

Then something happened. I don’t know what… but one day i just couldn’t keep seeing and telling the stuff i saw in my mind.

My mind became havoc one day and since then i’m pretty sure all i write have no sense whatsoever. I’m not quite sure anything that comes out of my mouth make any sense. Do people understand me? Am i talking right?

A while ago i commented on having a lot of thoughts through the day, so much i would wake up in the middle of the night to keep thinking. But nothing of that makes sense. And i’m not sure why my mind became such a mess.

Why am i even talking about this?

Well, i was writing a different post a few minutes ago, and when i checked it up it made no sense even to me. Which is weird, because i usually know myself enough to undertsand what i’m talking about. That was not the case thi time, and i started thinking, what if all the stuff in here makes no sense?

Things became suddenly complicated.

I feel like i usually mumble a lot and because of that when i’m around people iprefer not to speak.

The thing is i’m not sure if this is a self esteem issue or something else, and there’s no one i can talk about it with, because since i don’t speak i don’t have friends to go to… Anywya, it’s not like i would be able to explain to them any of this. Words wouldn’t come out my mouth if i was with them…

So i write. But i no longer write stories, because my mind is a complete mess and i don’t know how to interact with people any longer.

I write about books and the stuff i love, i write about it a lot, more than you actually see here, because even though my mind is mess and i don’t have people to talk to i still have a lot of thoughts that i need to take out of my mind.

I really have no idea what was the actual point of this post.

Maybe a little rumbling to clean my head a bit.






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