Monday, June 6, 2011

Why I Write

I've always been living in the shadow of my family, whether it be my mom, dad, brother, or even younger sister. The only firsts in our family that I have done is to be the first to be diagnosed with ADHD and severe depression in the 3rd grade, the first to fail math, the first to fail science, and the first to be committed.

I come from a jumbled up family. Both sides of my parent's families have struggled with addiction, and as a result, I have too. Both sides have had depression, as have I. Both sides are extremely intelligent, creative, and booksmart. I can't be diagnosed with any of those things, so I can't really speak on them being passed down to me.

I am not strong. I am not athletic. I am not skinny. I am not hardworking. I am clingy. I am extremely open with my feelings. I am a hopeless romantic. I am an idealist. I wish my life was directed by John Hughes, so I could get the girl in the end, no matter how socially awkward I am.

I can't get into a prestigious Liberal Arts college with a $45,000 scholarship for academics. I can't pay for college by myself, finishing a four-year degree in three years, all while working two part-time jobs, and an internship. I can't run a PR firm from my home while taking care of a newborn son. I can't fight addiction. I can't have fun without trying. I need to take my medicine in order for people to like me.

This is why I write. To express how I want life to be. To convey my feelings without getting tongue-tied. To prove to my family that I am as good as they are, if not better.

I write to live, and I live to write.

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