In the simplest of ways, I am a writer. I live and I dream and I document it for the world to judge me in its own delusional state of correctness. I create stories and relationships in my mind that compensate for what goes on in the world around me. I have oftentimes found the other part of myself locked inside of a dark room, refusing to come out, throwing a tantrum, and telling me that I’m being unreasonable. We all have our demons; mine just happen to reside on the top bunk.
That said, I argue with myself on a daily basis, much like a person that should probably be institutionalized, but they haven’t made me just yet. The intricacies of the average human mind are really nothing compared to the briar patch that I have created for myself, over the years, in my own head.
And so I go on, watching, wondering and writing it down every once in a while.