My scape goat

Writing have always been a good part of my life.
I'd always write when something gets to me, being that something good or bad.
I have lots of texts, over one hundred and fifty of them, that only a handful of people had saw.
I write in order to humiliate myself, to comprehend something, to rip it out of my chest.
Most of my writing had to do with no more than what I feel, what I'm going through or something random that for some reason I have to write about.
But I always had done it without any inspiration, a little bit "clinically", knowing what to write, how and when, how to express, which words to use, never a random thought got on "paper".
Well that never ain't a whole true.
I had two muses in my life, one I felt it as a brother, a man I can count on in a time I had nothing left, and when I do finally got nothing left I ended loosing him as well.
Two years passed without me writing a single word, every time I sat to write all nonsense come out, all black and bitter, just the way I felt, the way I was.

Depression is a constant companion, every now and then it takes a little vacation, but never long enough to let me enjoy of a peaceful existence.

And well, lets see how it goes from here.

I'm dwelling between staying and going back to BsAs.... well lets wait and see, at least one more month.