My pen is the barrel of the gun.

There are very few things that mean as much to me as writing does. I have so many struggles with it. But it all comes down to my burning passion for writing. I love writing, cutesy love letters, pissed off rants, persuasive speeches, you name it. I have a 4000+ word paper due at the end of December and I'm killing myself over it. I'm seriously having such a hard time because I know I'm going to kill myself if it isn't perfect. Twenty+ pages, and I will make it shine. My topic: genocide in East Africa. That alone is getting me down. I don't sleep, between stressing about solutions, and stressing about homework. I want to go to Africa again. I just want to make a difference, and this paper is pulling at my emotions so hard already. I'm reading a book about a guy's experience in Darfur. The preface alone made me want to cry. He met a woman who's sister had died in the rebel war, and she had her niece and nephew. The one year old had a bullet wound in her back, and although the author gave the paramedics her name specifically, his one regret to this day is not taking that little girl with him. I really wish I didn't take English classes and writing so seriously all the time.