It's been a long time. Just started writing again (in general). My drive and passion has been deteriorating faster than it has recuperated. That's fine. That's when the title comes in. Why I am losing interest in the things that once made me happy is a question I have yet to answer.
I've witnessed the growth and happiness of people around me. These happy moments have slowly installed a little bit of jealousy and bitterness within me. Has me sitting in my room, deep in a sea of poisonous thoughts. Thoughts that led to tears, then to long, unhealthy naps late in the evening. Thoughts that led to phone calls I regret. I never wanted to be the last one standing. I thought those days were over. I thought that eventually, I'd be there. It's good there is still "eventually". I just wish my schedule was on the same page with reality.
The changes I've recently decided to make are slowly in effect. Will they cause some kind of change in my life, we shall see. But, writing will forever be something for me. It may not be as creative as I'd like it to be, but it's a start for whatever. Don't know where it will take me, but at least I've tried.