Sure of Myself

I am so cocky and sure of myself when it comes to writing. I was just thinking about my ambition to be the best writer ever and thinking, “But am I really that good?” The next thought that came into my head was in two hundred years time some people looking over words that I wrote doubting myself and saying, “Even the great Yours Truly doubted himself sometimes.” 

Every word I write has an agenda, is designed to make me seem great in front of people. None of it is for myself. Some is written so I’ll be respected, some is written in the hope of sex and some is written so people will fall to their knees praising my genius. Nothing is written for me, just for my mind and my goals. I write for others but only if it benefits me. This doesn’t mean I don’t care. I care deeply about lots of things, some of the stuff happening in the world makes me cry and feel like shit but when I write about when I say I care I mean it there is always in the back of my mind a voice saying how will this make me look? Oh, they’ll like that one, you’re a genius. Girls will see that and want to have sex with you.

What the medical definition? Narcissist. Definitely. I think the world revolves around me even though most people don’t want to spend much time with me. 

My writing is always for something. Never just for me alone. Things like this would never appear in a magazine but I dream of sometime years from now them being discovered by a scholar or something and read. On the other hand, what’s the point of writing something if it’ll never be read?

I suppose I have a need to document my life. I believe I have a special mind and it is worth people seeing. I’m definitely growing more bitter. I don’t want that, I want a saviour but who can save a person who sees only himself as right?

I want to accomplish things but when I look at history and see what people have done, and I’m talking about the likes of Gandhi and Jesus here, no one has matched my ambitions. Help me please.