The only thing keeping me from blowing something up

Is my beloved Todd.

Seriously.

Critique did not go well. Okay, maybe it was a bit ambitious to think that they'd come up with something like, "Wow, Danica, that was the most brilliant thing you've ever written." But basically, despite the fact that my writing is technically perfect, they once again, hate my characters.

Why am I still doing this?

Frankly, I LIKE my characters, but no one else does. I do not get this. Am I that much of a social deviant that the people I think are incredibly intriguing are the ones that the rest of the world thinks deserves to die?

I don't get it, honestly. For five years, I've been trying to conform to what the whole rest of the world wants, and I just can't do it. I guess I'm stuck as a psychopath or sociopath, or whichever title best fits at the moment.

Fortunately, on the way home, the first song that came on the radio was This Fragile Breath by Todd Agnew (aka my beloved Todd. Since I am such a deviant, and given that I have my little pet name for him, I'm sure he's got his "people" watching me to make sure I don't blow him up or something. Message to Todd's people: I do not wish to blow him up or cause him any harm. I like him. He calms me when I'm homicidal.) Anyway, there's this one verse that really gets me:

I searched the world for a poem I could read
A rhyme that would bring Glory to my King
But no writing I found was worthy of
This God high above All other gods
What are my words compared to yours

It occurred to me as I was listening to these words for probably what is at least the millionth time, as much as I try to write something worthy, it's never going to compare. Nothing that comes out of my brain will ever be the brilliant masterpiece I want it to be. I realize I'm going to seem much more depressed and bitter than I mean to, but I just have to let it out as honest as I can, so bear with me, and don't have me committed. Or no, maybe you should. Because I just do not feel like I belong in this world. And hey, I'd get a day full of nap time and making crafts with popsicle sticks and paste. Anyway... my point.

I don't understand why I'm here. If I was meant to be a writer, then why is this so dang hard? Why did I spend the first 2/3 of my life hearing "Danica's writing is brilliant" only to be beating my head against the wall because the only people I like are the ones everyone else thinks is psychotic. I'm seriously questioning my mental health here, because the people I think are normal and likable are the ones everyone else thinks are deviants.

So okay, I'm nuts.

But what's really nuts-is that despite all of this, I'm still working at it. Trying to be better, to do better, to finally come up with something that really is brilliant. And maybe, in the process, I'll find something worthy of the King.

But if I were you-I'd make sure I always had plenty of Todd on hand, because if I were to lose his music, I probably would blow up the world instead.