Sometimes, I feel…stuck. I had big dreams of becoming a national bestselling author. I wouldn’t even get all yeses down the publishing line. I would struggle. Another dream of mine to kinda come true; I would fantasize about being a starving artist living in Greenwich Village. That was the plan and the dream. But it never happened and there is no reason why. I just didn’t. To do that? The absolute freedom and fear and hope and pride.
Then, reality hits and I know it never could have been that way. I suffer from major depressive disorder, autism, severe anxiety, ADHD, and some other stuff messing with my brain. But just think! Find your own dream place and go there. Imagine doing something you wanted to do when you were young: A farmer, singer, vet, doctor, nurse, astronaut, pilot, and on. It feels good, right? Like going home. That’s what I’m missing. I don’t sit here and think, I’m home. This is Mom’s house. Just like it’s Mom’s car. Some things you can’t let go of because you know they don’t have the strength to return.
So what do I do? Why am I so flighty and yearning? Why couldn’t this have happened when I could have done something about it?