Reality

I am very introspective and self-analytical. Maybe to a fault. I also can't help but think about my life, every almost-36 years of it, every day, every decision, everything and wonder about the path it has taken, the things that happened that led me to this very moment.

Like everyone, I have made horrible mistakes. I have done stupid things, things beyond stupid, I have said mean things to people that I regret, I have quit things I shouldn't have, I have lied, I have kissed people I shouldn't have, I have spread my own secrets and opened up when I shouldn't have. All of it has been a part of my never-ending desperate search to fill some sort of emptiness inside.

I recently realized that I have often made decisions based on what would make a good story. What would be the most dramatic, the craziest. This is not always a good thing...

So do I create the drama in my life? Is it all me? Or maybe it's just the way I perceive it that makes it all seem so surreal and crazy. Maybe it's years of reading and writing that make me see things as a story.

Does it really matter?

Either way, almost every day feels like an adventure, a movie, a book with vivid colors, bright shining characters, twists and turns that dip and soar and leave me exhausted and yet somehow pleased. I wouldn't have it any other way. I couldn't live any other way. My brain needs the stimulation, the chaos, the sensory overloads.

There will always be stories to tell. And I am desperate to tell them. Who will listen?