I sit here waiting for inspiration to flow out onto the page. Where are you inspiration! I miss being able to write the loopy words onto the page. I miss being able to think of an idea and have it already fully written in my head. I wish I could go back to that time. It was a simpler time then. I could go outside without dread creeping through me. I could talk to people with ease. I miss that time. Maybe I was never meant to stay like that. Maybe I was meant to grow up like this, a mess. I laugh at the irony. Here I am writing about how sucky my personality is and how sucky my mind is when people have real problems. They have real trauma. I don't. I shouldn't feel like this. But I do.