Diary Page

My mother describes getting close to me as a privilege very few people get, doesn't understand why some names get all the honey and all the praise and some aren't worth the mention. I am young, but I am terrified. and I am broken and i've been trying to find a way to heal. every morning when I wake up i have to wind myself up for ages before I convince myself that I should start my day, that I should try. every time I go to a job interview my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach and this cloud of sadness overwhelms me but I still get in there, and sweet talk people into believing that they most defenitely should hire me, I get their approval but always end up turning down the jobs with a white lie because my heart doesn't allow me to give it a yes. even if it is what is best right now. when the night falls I think about this loneliness I feel, one that makes want to bite into a hammer until all my teeth fall off, I just want to go away and I want to write and I've been running out of patience. and I don't know how to keep it together, I'm as emotionally unstable as it gets.I bite the insides of my cheeks till I bleed when I think of all the girls out there, who are granted the privilege who have supporting mothers, and fathers and a dutch nationality to match. who can board a plane at any instant and chase careers but settle for being 20, having 3 kids and sleeping with boys that like to punch them in the face. I've been struggling I tell you. i just want to write, and just my luck I'm surrounded by those who think writing isn't even something to do with your life. if it was for me, I'd gather a group of teens and just sit and talk with them the whole day, I'd turn these poems into speeches, the speeches into scripts, the scripts into plays and plays into movies, from songs to slogans to everything. I want to write, business letters, translate, edit, create. its not that I'm lazy is just that I'm tired of being trapped in situations I don't love, with people I don't love. thinking on how much years do I still have to lose to heartache before i finally get what I want. there's no room for me here, it fills my eyes with tears to say it, but this is a touristic island. They don't have room for writers here, for immigrants here, there's not even room for its own people here. everything that is less than writing makes me feel like a failure, even if I do it good.
I need to go, I need to go, but all I hear is how ungrateful and selfish it is of me to want to leave,I need a better support system, and I honestly don't even know where to find it.