I never thought I’d write my story-- briefly main points. I was born very premature— with a 10% chance of survival, and despite beating all odds, even today, I feel I lack parts of myself— basic understanding and awareness of living that others are, in a sense, oblivious to, as it's in their bones—set to default to understand. I feel that sometimes being born so frail, so vulnerable and underdeveloped, was a telltale sign that I would be forever lost in the sea of misunderstanding society, of adulting. Forever feel like a cognitively underdeveloped person in an adult’s body— I can't put it into words— and it is simply something I feel is linked to my consciousness.
I need to learn to be patient with myself— to be disciplined-- to work harder for what I want instead of settling just because it's comfortable and feels safe, despite knowing it's not me truly living up to my true potential and interests.
I know all this is my conscious stream of thoughts. But I hope it takes me to a better place years from now— if I keep trying. If I keep on practicing patience, and see that I'm here for many reasons— as a future wife, to find my heart’s calling.
Even if I won't ever be able to make a living off of writing or blogging, I know I’d be more than satisfied simply having work that involves the act of writing— whether that is editing or transcribing. 
I also feel that maybe writing personal things simply for an income may turn sour in the long haul