Why is it that I’m struggling to finish my book?

 I never knew I loved writing until I started composing poems. I never knew if I will ever write my dream book which book lovers will keep close to them as they walk away from store. 

I didn’t know anything until I wrote my first lines and declared to myself that I’m writing a book. 

I have had a dream of being an author since I can restore the time I realised. 

But in the passing of years , one by one and education + stress with it. 

I don’t remember when my half finished book became five years old and unfinished. 

When I look back and recall what my main story was, I get a new story all together. 

I remember waking up one morning and plotting a book in my head. And series of ammendments moved further. 

And my dream of being published seemed faded. I could not picture myself sometimes and sometimes I see myself signing my finished copies. 

I’m so stressed yet hopeful and terrified. I don’t know what I’m doing is fine. I don’t know what I’m doing right. 

I don’t know if I will ever going to make because inside my head I’m already broken and incomplete. 

My dream feels faded and hidden and not reachable which freaks me out because with everything that life is – if there is something I see and want my dream life to be – I see myself a published writer who people loved because I changed their life in some way. 

I sometimes feel that maybe because this story is not meant to be that is why it isn’t happening. And on the other hand this story is so so important to me. 

And i wonder what will happen next , will I be able to achieve what I want to achieve. 

My family knows about it, some of my relatives too but I’m sure they do not understand the intensity of my situation. This is something I want so much. And if you ask this is the only thing I want to have in near future. 

I don’t want to write to just want to be in limelight or be published and known. 

I love writing for what it is , it is free. I want to be free. Writing means so much to me. It is so precious to me. 

This might seem strange but I’m crying while writing this. I know insane but true. 

I want to write because I love it. I don’t want to prove anything to anyone. I’m not running a race to be a published writer as trendy as it is. 

Writing is me and I’m writing. 

I’m broken. And I don’t know how to mend it. 

Help ?

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