Sebastian and I

In my first completed novel Elemental. The main character is Sebastian, a fourteen year old boy. Black hair and blue eyes and a permanent scowl are his most distinguishing feature.

He pushes people away and prefers to keep to himself. For their safety, is the excuse.

He has powers that can make him dangerous. So isolates himself so he doesn't have to feel the pain of hurting someone he actually cares about.

He is standoffish' short tempered, and hard to talk to at the best of times. Truly he's just lost. But almost no one can see it.

I imagine that he and I have been in exactly the same situation.

Sitting in a chair, in the sun but not really feeling the warm rays. Head in hands. Wondering what we're doing with our lives.

I know how Sebastian will find his way to happiness. I don't know how i will. Whoever is holding the pen to my story. I hope they aren't the kind who likes to torture their protagonist.

I don't want to think

I don't want to think or create anything. Yesterday i was so pumped about the chaper i wrote. Today i don't even want to look at it.

I just want to bury my head under my pillow and stay like that for a long time. I don't understand.

This can't be what everyone feels like or no one would leave the house. Why is this a thing? I don't like it.

I wish i had something uplifting and motivating to tell you guys but today i just don't.

There just doesn't seem to be a point to anything. No one cares about who i am anyway. Everyone just reads one article on Aspergers and thinks they have me all figured out.

I'm more than that, or i'd like to say i am. But i'm not. I'm really not.

I don't know anymore

I used to think i could tell when things were starting to slide again. But i didn't see this low coming. It just slapped me in the face with all of my self doubts.

I suppose it is a part of depression, that it just comes when it wants to and you don't even have to be doing anything.

I can't even look at my writing, because i just hate every sentence if i do. All the work that went into those stories feels like a waste of time.

I've been blasting songs that have gotten me through hard times before. Going on walks until my legs ache. Trying everything to keep it away.

I've had so many oppurtunities where i could have said that i needed help. Or that i wasn't doing so well. I could reach out but i...

I feel like people either would think i'm just complaining or not care at all.

Where are my friends during all this you may ask? The answer is Working. Busy. Studying. Whatever.

I'm sure they wouldn't enjoy hanging out with me anyway. They all know, the few real friends i do have that things have been hard lately for me.

Its not their fault, they have lives to live and just don't have time for me.

I'll just drag myself through as much routine as i can. Try and make life easier for everyone else. I don't want to think so i'll just do chores so that i can't.