It’s past midnight.
I’m still awake.
I’ve got a lot on my mind.
I need to write.
Below are the thoughts that are going through my head at this moment:
I struggle with feelings of loneliness and depression.
I write in order to channel those feelings into something that can do good not just for myself, but for others too.
I am not a nudist, but I write about nudism. The reason why is because I am trying to do what I can for a group of people who, it seems, are treated like outcasts.
One of the reasons I hate the news is because I feel like I can do nothing to stop the awfulness that is continually pouring from it.
But: When I am writing about subjects like nudism, I feel that I can do something — I feel that I can make a positive change in someone’s life.
I write about nudity, and the objectification of the female body in popular culture, too, in order to try and bring good out of the evil that is lust.
I know my writing has done good for people.
But… I want more. I want to help more people.
My desire to help people is like a hunger that I can’t satisfy.
I know about hunger…
I guess what I’m trying to say with this post is: I need help.
But. I don’t know what I need help with.
Thank you for reading.