I need a fucking Journal

I’m paralyzed by emotion. I’m trapped in my thoughts, engulfed in the flames of my pain. When am I not, right? I literally lay in my bed, minutes ago or days, consumed with gathering the details of a single painful thought until I felt, how I feel. I don’t know why I do this. I don’t know why I type in “W” in my internet browser and Worldstarhiphop comes up instead of WordPress. Why don’t I write more? I don’t write when I’m happy, but writing is what I want to do for the rest of my life. Does that mean I’m doomed to drown in pain, and revive myself through the words?  No one will ever understand. You aren’t meant to.  I need a fucking journal.