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I have a confession. I am addicted to crime dramas. I used to think it was a morbid fancy but I don’t anymore. I think part of me connects with the content, the meaning in those stories. They inspire me, cause desire to well up within me to do something. To fix what is broken, to heal the hurts and end the wrongs. Maybe my first psychologist was right in asking me if I liked being sad. I always thought that was the dumbest question. That she didn’t understand me at all. Maybe a part of me does like feeling sad. Like it connects me to something bigger, keeps me human. I sure as heck prefer being sad over those long periods of feeling nothing I used to go through. That seriously creeped me out.

If I can be sad over the evil and the tragedy in my world then I can still be human enough to fight it. To never stop wanting to stop it. To continue to strive to make the world better, safer, happier for the people around me but especially for the people who come after me, for the children I will someday have. I have to make an effort to clean this world up for them and for all the children who have fallen through the cracks, whose families don’t protect them or love them like they should, like they deserve. At least in the shows I watch there is a resolution to the sad story and that is more than can be said for a lot of real situations.

I love and hate being a writer. Sometimes I feel things so deeply, so acutely I can’t do anything until I’ve written it down. I can be crying so hard I can barely see my paper or computer screen but I know I won’t feel better until I’ve written it out of my system. When something bothers me I write it down and trap it on the page. Once it’s written down I can control it. I can change what happens. I can change the ending. I can do everything I wish I could in real life.