I miss writing. The things I used to say- they were never that deep, or insightful, but sometimes they were sort of pretty. Writing was an escape for me, and now I no longer have the creativity to do that for myself. I’ve been going through so much lately, and talking to my friends about it doesn’t seem to help. Being alone in my head doesn’t seem to help. I pray about it, but it’s so difficult for me to not worry. I’ve grown accustomed to not having a god to cast all my worries onto. I’m used to holding it in. Just, every day it is something new. Every day. I cannot go a 24-hour period without stumbling across some new issue, another nail through my foot to keep me in this terrible position I’m in. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where to go anymore.