I'm confused, but then that's nothing new. I suppose I'm just letting this confusion, my own ignorance, and several other things get to me that I always push away. I have a question to pose to anyone who comes across this journal that gives half a damn: why do you make art? Why does anyone draw, paint, write, sing, act, etc.? Why do we all feel the need to pour our souls, our intangible, unfathomable selves into a physical medium? Some men might think they have the answer to that question, at least on a personal level. I once did; shit, I've had several different answers to that at many times throughout my short, yet eternal personal history. I'm lost now, and could honestly use some guidance, or a hand to pull me along, or even some acknowledgment that someone else has been here before. I know it's stupid to go ahead and put all this online, where I hardly know anyone, and it may seem like a cry for attention. But it's theraputic for me; I guess it might be the knowledge that someone else may stumble upon it, unlike an actual journal. I'm just struggling now, apparently; but then again, what 18-year-old isn't in some way? I hardly ever cry, and I know it's unhealthy, but I'm crying more often now. I hate it. I need it. But I hate it. And I just don't know anymore, as if I ever did. I feel tired, but I don't know what of. I could use something, but I don't know what. I don't fucking know.