I think I'm a person split into two people on any given day... and people only like one of the two. They like the Corrie who lives in make-believe land. Corrie the writer. Corrie the creative girl. I know I already said this, but seriously... it's caused me to really go back and re-analyze every disappointing relationship I've ever had. When things were good, it was because I was writing and they were really into it. When things were bad, I wasn't writing, and they had nothing to care about.

Andi was the first person to say it out loud. After he dumped me, he said "I was confused. I thought I was attracted to you, but I was actually just attracted to your creativity."

WOW.

I think a lot of people are attracted to my creativity. That's not overall a bad thing, I suppose... it's just that there's more to me than that, and I wish ALL of it were attractive. Maybe it isn't. I really don't know. Can one exist without the other? That doesn't seem very possible.

I'm frustrated with so many things right now. Last night I dreamed that I had the opportunity to confront a whole bunch of things, and I was incredibly disappointed to wake up and realize none of it had happened. Confront them anyway, you say? I wish that were possible. Nope... it's out of my hands now.

It's a frustrating feeling to feel that you have nowhere you belong. No place feels like home, because there is nowhere you can go where you feel particularly welcome. I'm confined to one room in Dad's house, and that's due largely in part to an intense saturation of cigarette smoke. I simply can't be around that.

I feel like there is always someone rolling their eyes whenever I say anything out loud about my asthma and allergies. The only people who take it seriously are Kelly and Nikki. Kelly... because she genuinely cares and understands, and Nikki because it's her JOB and she knows how serious it can really be. I feel like the rest of my family acts as if I'm making it all up and dramatizing it just for the sake of attention. Trust me. I don't want that kind of attention.

I'm so sad.

I don't even know how to expand on that. If I allow my brain even a second to consider all of the reasons I have to feel that emotion, tears instantly well up in my eyes and I become so overwhelmed that every day normal functions become extremely difficult for me.

Things happened that shouldn't have, and things happened that wouldn't have... if only. It's very very tempting indeed to just give up.

I am worthless. Maybe not entirely, but that's how I feel. I've come to notice something. Well, I suppose I've noticed for a very long time... but I didn't realize how broad it was until just now. My personal worth has been replaced by the worth of my fiction.

Whenever anyone talks to me, regardless of how the conversation started, it always turns to my writing. I am not the one to turn it there. Sometimes it comes across as them hitching their wagon to the star before it rises. The problem with that, is that the star feels that much less inclined to rise, because it's incredibly weighted down.

People could talk to me forever about my books. They don't so much enjoy talking to me about me. There are a select few...

BJ could talk for hours about my characters and plot points and get lost in that world and their personalities. He would ask difficult questions about their development and thoughts... he couldn't even ask me how my day had gone. Compared to my fiction... I am worthless.

When I talk about my book and the possibility of its publication, I am met with excitement, and communications that I had been severely lacking. Everyone wants to know what's new with the book... not so much what's new with me.

When I have a problem that's very difficult and raw, it's averted by a quick reminder "Someday you'll be a famous writer, and..." oh. Okay.

I often get the impression that people want to know me because of my writing, and put up with me because I'm the writer. Maybe BJ only wanted the writer. He only liked talking to her, anyway. "Where are Clark and Lex?" That is after all, how we met. That makes sense... he only liked me when I was the writer. When I had writer's block or was otherwise engaged, he rarely talked to me. I was cranking out chapters of Haunted just to get an email from him in the mornings.

It all makes sense now...

Or maybe I'm trying just too hard to rationalize things.

Why is it that it seems that everyone wants to be in MY life (writing) but nobody wants me to be a part of theirs????

I don't have any of the answers. Everyone likes my characters better than they like me. I can't really blame them... I like my characters better too...