You make choices on how to present yourself to this world. In the title. In the space. In the rhythm. In the definitions. In the feel. In the voice. It is always about your voice. You question every move that brings it into fruition. A place where it can be touched and seen and experienced. Because it is just too damn hard.
You have been writing a story. Writing is the wrong term. You have been compiling a story in your head for years. Transcribing a piece from mind to page here and there. Never consistent. Never organized. Never motivated with that necessary fire under your ass that needs to be. In order to move forward. You worry over every syllable as if it would change something. Frightening is the wrong term. Paranoid seems better.
Confusion sets in. Your words get lost and jumbled in the time it takes to express them. You miss the point and lose your place. You are lost and are trying to enjoy it. Trying to find something bright in the mess of your voice.