Hm, so it seems that I've come across a problem that I need to talk about. Or perhaps, heh, write down is more accurate. I guess it's not so much a problem as it is an observation.

I have recently checked out a new author. Ellen Hopkins is a wonderful writer. Her stories go way beyond controversial, taking me deep into the mind of a meth addict. Well, at least Glass and Crank do. Now, what could scary stories of meth bring up in my mind? What can I possibly compare to that?

I have found that along with the main character in those books, I have been able to connect with this fictional character in a rather disturbing way. Secrets haunted her as well as they do me. Now, nothing about drugs, but other things that I've kept secret, things that i may or may not regret in the future.

Finding this new obsession with secrets and hiding the fact that I indeed can connect with this character so well in the back of mind seems like I'm ignoring the problem. But these books made me realize the cold hard truths about life itself and how fast you can spin out of control. I have to be honest, it totally freaks me out.

I myself, am currently writing a story of my own about an addict who simply loses control of her life an ultimately find herself in a very compromising position. Again, I find the resemblence disturbing. It seems almost like I can relate with my character Emily too well, that i can tell her story through words, I'm the one who lived it.

I find myself questioning more and more about the things around me. And, even more so who I am as a person. Perhaps, this is a little too much for me to be worrying about now, but maybe it's not. I just can't help but question, especially when I can connect like I have been.

It's a little strange, if you know I mean.