My ghosts continue to haunt me. I cannot escape them. Everywhere, I hear voices screaming into my ear that I do not have the right to write, because I do not know how, and that I'm not good at it. How terrible it is for me who claims to be a writer, yet i cannot even please myself. I am confused with what I really want. Sometimes, I am this one very appreciative and giddy person. But there are also times when I feel like lashing at myself for being so ordinary and mediocre. I am. I just try to hide behind the the facade of being confident and domineering. Deep inside, I am as scared as a cat trapped in darkness looking for his mom. I try to look beyond my fears but I see nothing. Only darkness. At night, I am afraid to close my eyes because I do not want to be one with emptiness once again. I fear sleep for the same reason I fear loneliness. But I am lonely. My problems are my own. I cannot even tell my closest friend about the things that are bothering me. She would never understand. He would never understand. I'd hate to add pity to the feeling of hate people have towards me. And now, my struggle is slowly eating me alive. I am drowned in my own sorrow. This I would like to write but my hands are paralyzed and my head feels like it's losing air. My back feels like it's going to split and my throat turns swollen and dry. I do not know who i am anymore. I do not recognize myself in the person that I became. Like Jekyll and Hyde. I am slowly facing defeat. And one day, who I am will be gobbled up by who I have become.