At 21, I wanted to created some kind of religious unified theory and write about it using symbols in a intergalactic sci fi. Now at 35, its like I've lost so much time to brainmapping. I obsess about trying to find myself in the characters and I'm left with this story that begs to be told and is just so confusing and all -encompassing to my identity. Because of mental illness, I'm trapped at my parent's house with no car, a new job (after five years) and a boyfriend I talk to every night but see only once in a while. I have no energy to talk about all this to friends and I'm hoping to make some here. Its a very heavy, tiring reality, in which I feel I'm watching my life fly by with nothing going on in it. Living at home where all my mom does all day (my dad still works), is take people to appointments and either facebook or tv in bed. Its like I'm an attachment to her life. I just feel useless and old. I'm worried that my relationship with my boyfriend will fall apart with my lack of ability to write. It can't get any worse then this, but what if it does? I can barely stand not to kill myself like this.