The beginning of my diary

I’ve never wrote a book before. I feel confused. I don’t know how to write it. Figuring my style always seems to be a hard task. So this is all about me. I like that. All the personal things will be in here and you, the people who don’t even know me, will be able to get more about me then anyone else I know. That’s a bit strange isn’t it? I’m writing this because I feel alone and insecure. I don’t know who to trust with my problems. If I start now there won’t be any place to stop. I have problems with myself. I get depressed by the thaughts inside my head, by the questions that I can’t find answers to. I think that everything has it’s limits, including the human mind. This bugs me. It’s a kind of a “matrix” issue. Not everything you read, see or hear is the truth. Why not? It feels better dosn’t it? To be sure you know that everything around you is real. Why ask too meny questions. You get the picture don’t you. That describes a part of me as a person.
Ok. I have to run now. I’ll write to you at a later date. Maybe tomorrow or the day after. When I feel inspired.