Limitations part two

I fear that I am not as comfortable with myself as I would like to be.

You see, I come upon my limitations once again. It's very difficult to summarize exactly how I feel. It's not depression, exactly. I guess it's akin to long-term exposure (chronic doses) of a toxin. I know I am not doing as well as I'd like, and I can articulate a few things that are problems. The scope of it is somehow lost in the description.

I wish I could take my ideas and put prose together that would be worthy of them. It's as though I have more colors in my crayon box than most, but I keep drawing everything in blue, black, and grey. I feel my writing is stunted. Since I hardly work at it anymore, I guess I shouldn't be surprised.