Whenever I think I know who I am, I surprise myself...

I remember when I was first granted the opportunity to write for a readership that was not limited to family and friends. I was petrified. I had been knocking on this door for so long that I forgot to prepare for when it opens.

 At that time I was led by my confidence and good intentions. A sort of innocence, wanting only to write, to meet my own standards, to outshine only my last conquest, comparing myself to no-one and needing to beat only my odds. Somewhere down the road though, a wrong turn. Suddenly your perceptions, your expectations and your doubt became the scale on which I measured my worth.

A taste of praise became a hunger for acceptance. Then my back felt naked without the pats of approving hands. My every move fuelled by envious thoughts. My every thought rooted in a sea of arrogance, an unhealthy amount of lust [to be better than all others] and [false] pride; a deadly combination that is best suited to cause the retardation of my young soul.

Before I could figure out what was going on with me, the monster I created bore too many heads to slay.

"but its not my fault, I cannot control it"

A greater force pulls me off track; this, a way to shift the blame. Yes, I have been waiting too long for this moment but if I cannot claim it and own it even with all its flaws then I do not deserve it. And if I do not deserve it, is it not better to walk away from it?

If I cannot write with a pure heart, I may as well not write and if I cannot write you may as well just kill me.

Is that the price I have to pay?

My eyes swell with tears at the thought of it all.