I'm a writer, and in the course of the day I may experience the multitude of emotions that other people experience in a month or even a year. Everything from depression, to exaggerated glee, to self-scorn, to an outright wish to die, to bursting joy again, then back to self-deprecation, to sparkling glory and pride, to fatal indifference and bleak ideas of peril, to sudden feeling of worldly wisdom and truth. It never ends, and it drives me nuts. I am nuts, by some definition, I'm a writer. I have to experience all of this to be able to craft characters, multiple characters, overwhelmed with an array of emotions, to convince the reader that those are real people and they really REALLY feel it. Because if they feel nothing, the reader will feel nothing, and there will be no reason for the reader to read my book. It's a curse, and I've been afflicted with it all my life, not understanding it, trying to get rid of it, to suppress it, to make myself numb, going as far as seriously contemplating suicide, and then, finally, deciding to live and embracing it. The reason I am a writer is very simple. If I don't write, this cauldron of feelings, this hot fucking lava, this hodgepodge of my thoughts, this mishmash of my ruminations on life and everything else under the sun, this amalgamation of worries and heart palpitations and sweat perspirations and cries (don't you already feel overloaded by reading this sentence?) will spill on people around me, burn them, and they will run the hell away from me, screaming. Writing saves me and my life and the lives of those around me. Without writing I'd explode in a shower of fireworks, or bloody guts, or feces, your choice. But this is the thing. Without feeling this river of OH MY GOD I FEEL SO MUCH I WILL DIE shit, I wouldn't be able to write. And neither were you. So it's okay you're always overly dramatic and expressive, that's what writers have to be, to write.