I keep standing tip toeing around the fact that someday this perfect little world, that this world where I received a masters, where I bounced from job to job, not knowing what I wanted to do, or how I would find a way out of this darkness I have created for myself.
Not knowing when or how I would find a way to keep being anxious, to keep writing behind the moonlight as I self-published my first book, as I took my first step toward a government major, was it something I really wanted to do, what was I searching for?
What are we all searching for when we search for a career, a place to start, a place to wake up each morning to have a sense of meaning, is something I have been striving for months.
I have been striving for months to find meaning in a life where I changed my beliefs, where I changed what I went after, changed the color of. the pen from blue to red as the amount of pages I have written dwindle, not knowing if this passion I called writing would ever cross my mind.
Not knowing, not believing in myself, is something that has been hidden under the layer of blue bed sheets against the midst of not knowing what to go after and now when the world seems like it ending, when days turn into minutes, and I keep watching the numbers of death arise, I decided to finally open the door.
I decide to finally open the door to my new dream, to my new dream that was never given life, to a new chapter of finally believing in myself, of finally knowing I want to open a door to become a writer.