We have this notion that we know where our lives are supposed to go. We have the radical notion that maybe, somehow, we can plan our lives. We can have an idea of where we're going. Unfortunately, that is not true. The harsh reality is that life is completely random and changes all the time. There is no way to stop it or change it. Our stories are crossed with others, sometimes they do overlap, but we can't change ourselves because of someone else. We may end up doing so and that will probably make us unhappy. I like to believe that the only thing you can do about the oncoming wave is brace yourself. Don't try to stop it or get around it. You can't get over it, or run from it. You just have to hold onto something sturdy and hope you survive.

As you can tell, I am probably depressed. My life is going nowhere and I want to get out of this rut. But when a rut lasts more than a couple months, there's probably more to it. The only way I know to get away is through writing. Writing takes me to another place and lets me leave the world I'm in. The writing community is my home away from home. All my fellow writers are my family. God knows they're more supportive than my real family.

Why does it feel like so many writers throughout history and even just in small groups have problems? Is it just more obvious because we put our thoughts on paper instead of keeping them in? Or is there some pre- ordained decision by some being of the universe that decides those who write will be troubled.

I am honestly writing this piece as a cry of help. I am trying to reach out and get to the rest of the wrting community and see if they have any idea what to do. Even if writing isn't actually seen by anyone, it feels like I'm talking to a large community of people, almost as if I'm giving a speech. This is pretentious and assumptious but that is the only way to make my writing feel worthwhile and honestly, if I didn't write, I would go to a very very bad and dark place.

So there it is. I am depressed. I feel the weight of the world pressing down on me, pressuring me to do something great. I feel useless and fairly pointless. I want to change the world but I don't even know where to begin or how to do anything if I'm stuck here, with nothing around me, too youg to actually do anything. I don't have the money to do things because this world revolves around money, at least in capitalistic countries like America. I had this amazing vision of who I was "supposed to be" but I see now that that was just a childish dream.

I have to write these thoughts down to keep me sane. I have to change my tears to ink and put them down on paper. This is the only way I can survive this cold world. Writing is the blanket I wrap around myself to stay warm.

Life can be hard. It makes you miserable, maybe even to the point of wondering whether anything would change if you died. I escape through my writing into another world, a new one every day. And for that I will always be grateful. I have people who read my writing and also write, giving me something to read. I am grateful to anyone else who is part of the writing community, allowing me to get out of this world I'm in.