I keep trying to write this personal essay. But, I have nothing to say. There is nothing about myself that I wish to imprint on paper. I should like to keep all these feeling tucked in. I should like to feel nothing at all. But, that isn't the way life works, or Creative Writing class.
When it comes to fiction, or lies, I never run out. I can always lie. That is the easy part, formulating my fantasies into someone else's truth. I can always write down something that isn't true; present the proposed reality in a slightly altered way. But I cannot tell what is. I cannot tell what is, because what is becomes vulnerable.
If I began to remember, I would have to remember everything. Not a fragment, but a whole. That is not a journey that I wish to take.
I write stories because I wish my own existence were altered. I manufacture characters, memories, relationships and plotlines, so that I do not have to understand my own, or to even bother with them.
As long as I can lie, I don't have to see the truth.
I kept trying to pick something out; try something on to see which personal experience fit me best. I couldn't do it, I erased paragraph after paragraph of sarcastic anecdotes. I wanted to write something meaningful. I wanted the words to just flow from my fingertips as if I were God creating some kind of holy masterpiece. But, the words were just not there. The thought occurred to me, that I should just create myself. Invent and shape until the perfect me, gave way to the ideal situation.
I couldn't do it. At a certain point you have to tell the logical truth. This is mine. I can't write a personal essay.