Thread: Based on my diary entry, do you think I would be a good author?

I'm a loser.

I'm 21.

No job.

Not in school.

No friends.

No car.

No money.

Obese.



I spend everyday at home on the computer. I'm utterly afraid to leave my house. My parents are fed up with me. I can't even look in the mirror anymore. I don't want this for myself but I don't know what will make me feel happy. I want to lose weight but I can't bear the thought of giving up the foods that have provided me the comfort, happiness and satisfaction that I cannot get anywhere else. I'm lonely but I don't trust people anymore. I've been let down by every person I've allowed myself to open up to. I'm worthless, but will college be the answer to my lowliness? I want to live a life where I can wake up every morning and look forward to the day. I don't want to work a 9 to 5 job, working at a company that I hate.

I always think that everyone is here on this Earth for a reason. I don't know what my reason is. I'm not like anyone else I've ever known. How many African American females are out there who have had Soto Syndrome, scoliosis, obesity and Bipolar Disorder? Not to mention living the majority of my formative years being controlled by an overprotective father?

Can you blame me for feeling lost? I've spent most of my life living the way my parents wanted to me live. I was never able to determine what I want for myself. Can you blame me for not knowing what to do when my parents suddenly let go of the rears and let my fly on my own? Of course I don't know my identity because I never got an opportunity to find it.

Maybe it's the Bipolar in me but I daydream alot. I imagine the possibility that maybe God bestowed these factors on me because he meant for me to feel special, not an outcast. Maybe I wasn't meant to take the road all my peers are on because I'm different from them. They're normal. They don't have anything to feel depressed about, so going to college, dating and having social lives should come naturally to them. Maybe I was meant for something more because of everything I was born with.

I would much rather believe that I'm God's "exception to the rule". Maybe I am special. Maybe he did intend for me to use my shortcomings as a vehicle to ride a fantastical life journey. After all, most of the famous figures in American history were all a little bit "off" right? Why can't I dig out a hole and cement my own place in life's vault of celebrity stardom?

Surely, remaining alive after spending several days wallowing alone along the frigid (well, as frigid as Miami, Florida can get) January streets at night performing lewd acts with perfect strangers can offer me at the very least a slight notoriety among my fellow Americans.

Or maybe if I express to my fabricated admirers the absolute, sheer, PERPETUAL terror I feel when it comes to something as mundane as walking into a store or just allowing myself to be around other people even if speaking is not mandatory. Maybe, that'll evoke some empathy from my sane counterparts.



Or, (and this is my greatest wish for my "future fan club") maybe if I express my fervent desire for my words to make a positive impact someone's life and the craving I have to be the person people can look to as an inspiration...

My reason for living would be complete.



But where do I start?

Where is my motivation?



What if this dream of mine is just that? A dream? Who am I to think that my words can inspire anyone? True, I do believe that I have a gift for the written word. I feel alive when I write. I feel as if my mind has a safe haven within the words that I compose.

But is it enough to bring clarity and comfort to another person?

Fear is my Achilles's heel.

And I don't think it will ever go away.

No.
Your life is just like everybody else's only more melodramatic.
If you really believed in the things you said, you wouldn't be in the position you are now.


If you really want to write, write an actual story, not just random facts about your life. Since you haven't actually improved with anything in your own life, I suggest writing a story about a woman just like you who overcomes her fears and/or had bigger obstacles than laziness and self-pity. Or something. (no offense, truly, just writing criticism)


And remember, there is a different between writing for the art, and writing for therapy.
It seems like your just spilling your thoughts on a page with no concern for the reader's taste or interest. That's what a diary is for.


Good luck. (By the way I really like your second to last sentence, I'd use it in the into paragraph)

I don't know, I just don't like the way it sounds.
For some reason it has a bit too much angst.
It seems like it would make a better poem or slam poem. But just as a diary story or a just a story, I wouldn't really look at it for long.

Sorry.

um no. you get down on yourself way too much. maybe if it was a tad bit more optimistic, you could have a chance. but no, you treat yourself like crap