Maybe what I need is to just start typing, as if nothing were really wrong and I was enjoying this like I used to. Yeah, that’s it. I spent two and a half weeks freaking out slowly in my mom’s tiny ass apartment for THAT bit of insight. Blame my ex-stepfather. He knows I want to write, and he’s pushy enough to get me to write. So here I sit, with incoherent thoughts - disjointed in the extreme - waiting for something I type to make sense.

So, instead of ordered and logical fiction flowing from my fingertips, I’m here, in this space, typing the first nonsense syllables that come to mind. I wonder if somehow this is related to my medication, that if I stopped taking it my thoughts would coallesce into more coherency than they currently possess. Maybe that’s a silly hope, and that this incoherency is - as they claim - the result of a progressing neurological disease.

Just what every growing young man wants to hear, I assure you. “You’re having a harder time now than you’ve had before because what’s wrong with you is getting worse, and likely always will.” Yeah . . . words to make me cream my pants with excitement.

Or maybe, just maybe, I’m disjointed and disconnected and cannot put coherent thought onto paper because - and this is important to keep in mind - it’s been so long since I made myself do that. I cannot remember how to write like I used to and I suffer for it. Truly suffer.

I hate to say it but that might be the first intelligent thing I’ve said to myself in quite some time. Fuck medication and excuses about being crazy, the fact is I’ve just avoided doing the one thing in the world that gives me deep-down pleasure for such an incredibly long time that I just don’t remember how to do it.

So I need practice, and the only way to get it is to write. Not this journal crap, where the key to insight is to free-associate, but solid prose with paragraphs, plot points, and coherent sentences all organized into a structure people find palatable.

Because I’ve always hated free-form writers who throw things on paper in any old order. Give me a well-structured novel any day of the week and you can take Ulysses and shove it. I don’t care how ground-breaking it supposedly is, or how richly-textured. It’s C-R-A-P and the capital letters are deserved.

But in any case, I’ve had my necessary insight for this session of the emergency diary-entry phenomena. Tune in later when I try to have more than one insight and see if it makes my brain explode. ;)

In the meantime, I need to get writing again before it’s too late. I might not have had a lot of talent, but I deeply valued what I did have and I hate to think I’m losing it. And we’ll see if this entry ever makes it onto the site, what with them refusing to let me add an entry.

I’d complain more, but I do at least try to understand the concept of “free.”