Any advice?
Hello
I'm pretty new to this so I hope I'm in the right forum!! I've just started a new story but I would like some feedback if at all possible. I'm at that stage where I cant decide if the whole thing is worth carrying on with, or whether it might need scrapping. Any comments would be appreciated.
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I used to have thousands of ideas for my future. A million wild dreams. They were practically all immature girlish fantasies, but they seemed so imaginable back then. I spent hours and hours daydreaming, truly believing that eventually I would have the perfect body and the perfect life and that one day, the whole world would find me irresistible.
My wish list went on forever, becoming less daring and less outrageous as the years went by. Funny isn’t it, how the older you get, the more you seem to accept the basic agenda for life. Marriage becomes appealing, you go to work but only for the money, and you convince yourself that all you need to feel completely content with who you are and the life you lead is a child.
Although many of the dreams I had were ludicrous, there were a few that could have come true at some point. A few that weren’t exactly impossible. I mean, I could have been a music journalist, I could have written a book, and I could have gone to live in America. But I didn’t, and no longer is it possible for me. Not after what’s happened.
Jesus, if I’d known when I was eighteen I would turn out to be who I am today, I’d have killed myself there and then. What’s life without fun, excitement, adventure? I’ll tell you shall I? It’s safe. What’s so bad about safe? Safe is boring. Dull. Repetitive. Pointless. Every day is absolute torture for me. I never wanted safe; I just can not accept it. I never wished for a comfortable, normal life, but then nor did I wish for a life so full of fear. I’d kill myself today only like I said - I’m not as daring as I used to be. I hardly dare do anything in fact. I wont open the curtains, I sleep with the lights on, I refuse to own a telephone and I will never look into another mirror again for as long as I live. Paranoid? Maybe. Insane? Apparently. Terrified? Constantly.
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