I realize, of course, that very few people have any interest in my writing and even less in my journal. As such, this is mostly for posterity's sake and to hopefully act as my motivation to continue writing.
I could say that I don't have time.
Wrong. I have more time than I should ever have need of. I simply waste it.
I could say that my workload has dramatically increased.
Untrue. I am currently unemployed and my workload at school has significantly decreased with the end of my Senior year.
I could say that college is taking my time and attention.
Sadly, my classes have started, but I have yet to receive any form of meaningful work.
I could say that my mental state is quickly deteriorating and leaving me a quivering mass of depression.
Frankly, I hate to say that I am depressed. I am, though and I hate it. I have a disturbing ability to be painfully self-critical. So much so, that I often blame myself for everything that goes wrong. I am constantly upsetting everyone around me and I will never live up to my own expectations of a decent human being. My family and friends try to tell me that I am not, but I know the truth. I am a monster. I am a disgusting, selfish, perverse, twisted, amoral, ungodly monster. There is no point in continuing this pathetic exercise in failure; repeatedly telling myself to write and never succeeding in convincing myself.
So, why am I here?
I can not just stop. I need this. I need something to keep me from going over the edge. In less than a month, I will lose my love and only see her again in four years. I do not know what I am doing with my life. I do not know who I am. I do not know what I am doing...
I am a writer, that's what I am.
I will write.