Making a difference is exhausting...

I'm just trying and I never know if I'll get anywhere.

Making a difference is a difficult thing.  When you look around you at people who are so content to be mediocre, why not join them?  I mean, everyone is trying to make it right?

I'm trying to make it.  I work around 30 hours a week.  I have a seven day work week this week, actually.  I have assignments and stories required of me in other places.  And sometimes, I don't get enough sleep.  And still I fail.

Sometimes my life demands so much of me.  I shy away from it.  I know why I do that, too.  After everything I've been through I have been so determined to not be a failure.  Failing would be anything less than amazing.  I don't feel amazing anymore.  I'm trying to see where my own thoughts and wonderings fit in.  And I don't want to give to something that isn't for me or isn't going to work.

I see kids my age who are bogged down with their own problems.  I'm sad for them.

The bad thing about being a victim of some sort is that you don't trust or care for anyone.  It's hard to love anyone else when you can't love yourself.  It's hard loving me when I don't see the fire I once had for this thing called writing.  I once loved it.  But now, I think I'm scared of it.  That's why I don't have much to say.  I'm afraid of what I might find.

Along with this, I don't care for the average person.  Part of me despises him.  I serve him for hours on end and get a two dollar tip.  The average person isn't considerate.  I guess that is why I try so hard to do everything at once, not let people down, be considerate...but deep down inside, I think it's letting myself down at this point.