Do I really have to write a title?

Here's something. I don't know if I have loyal readers of my very humble blog. I have a fine number of views despite the fact that I do not write that much. Only 196 posts. I only blame myself, especially that I have been posting all kinds of posts under all types of themes with no one precise topic. This blog actually kind of reflects my personality. This is who I am in real life. I want everything; I want to do everything; I want to learn about everything; I want to do everything. But I only end-up having a little bit of everything. I am indecisive and unfocused. I wish I was some sort of a superhero: A superhero who can multi-task. But my life is not that bad. I have come to a point where I actually love my life. Yes! I love my life! I cannot believe myself saying this. I am very satisfied with the person I am today. I am happy with the life I am leading today. I have absolutely nothing to complain about. 
I am writing this post after watching Julia & Julie. Meryl Streep. What a magical creature on earth! She is simply phenomenal. If the characters she is playing are real, you fall in love with the characters because of her. And if the characters are imaginary, you wish they were real. Every time I watch a movie and I like a particular character in it, I wish if I could be that character in real life, and I feel like if at least I show some initiative, I can definitely be whoever the hell I want. I know I can be anything or anyone I want. But I want to be all of them. And that is the problem. Even gods can only be gods and no one else.  

The Story of a Blue Bird Called Molly- Page3: Introduction

It has been a while since I last wrote something. The thing is.. I have been depressed for a very long time. I was trapped in a hell hole, and the only thing that helped me survive it was writing. I ran away from it thinking that this depression will end. It didn't. It turned out that while I was planning my escape, along with my books and laptop, I actually packed my depression.

Knowing this paralyzed me. I thought I could write because I was good at it, because I could do it. Discovering that I used to write just to survive devastated me. It crashed me into alphabetical letters that I am now failing at creating meaning out of them.

Today, I have decided to get out of my shell and talk about my state of depression. I am going to talk about the feelings and thoughts I have been having and have been afraid of sharing because of it makes people feel... "uncomfortable" and because it makes me look "unattractive".

I have been planning on starting a series of blog posts for a long time now. I will be sharing intimate stories about the childhood, adolescence and adulthood of an almost young Tunisian woman.. about me.

I'm Nada. I'm almost 27 years-old. And this is my story..

(to be continued)