It wasn't a good argument because I wasn't arguing. I tried to, back when I was doing the long one at 2 AM. That right there, and that back there at IRC, were rants.

Then you started talking about fanfiction, saying you don't like it because it's not in your taste. I replied to you about what I think was wrong with that, in a concise manner. Then you told me I'm too hung-up on... something that I brought up in a wider context of old-school writers giving youth shit about things they do.

You wanna talk about what I said about Sapkowski and Glukhovsky? Alright. Let's talk about it. But bring something on the matter to the table instead of rehashing tangential topics.

I would prefer to ask why I have turned out like this. By knowing the cause and extent of perceived damage you can start the mending process.

I don't know the extent of madness, but mere glimpses terrify me. I've seen unfiltered, childish anger from a woman twice my age and self-centered arrogance of a man who thought I only ever needed money to grow up happy. I thought all my life I was in the wrong for thinking a bad thing about someone or something, because it was all inherently my fault. Not a day goes by when I don't question even the slightest happy thought while the sound of desperation echoes at the void inside of me that I work very, very hard filling every fucking day.

And now you wonder why I'd rather shoot myself than become so closed off the world that I start actually talking shit?