There is something about putting thoughts into words and words onto paper that makes the world a little better; a little more tolerable. I can see why Achilles sought immortality. It is easier to think about your fate and your destiny if you know that some part of it will be remembered forever. Achilles still has not been forgotten. In fact, he just becomes more permanently immortalized every time someone makes a new movie or writes a new missive about his life. Could it be that anyone that takes the time to sit and pen their thoughts out into the unknown is seeking the same fate? The same outcome?
I wish there was a way to know that I was making an impact on the world. I wish that I could know that when I spend time writing, someone will read it and be effected by it. Even if that effect is only a shallow musing or a fleeting smile, it would be something. There is something deep in my soul that pulls me out and makes me do what is uncomfortable. It forces me to share with whoever will read what is happening in my brain. The innermost workings of my head and heart are laid bare for everyone to read forcing me to admit that failure will most likely come and that even if that happens I will not be able to stop trying for success.
I am a storm of tumultuous conflict. There is a rage in me that cries to be heard. It wants out. It wants to rule the world. The refusal of such a powerful emotion to be sated has caused me to write. That rage demands to be allowed out of the part of me that cannot handle rejection, pain, social interaction. So, she was born. An alter ego that allows me to be something that I am not but that I so desperately want to be. Confidence pours out of her just as it flees from me. If it were not for the writing I would be lost, doomed to a dark and unforgiving world of self inflicted isolation.