That's typically what writers do; we just sit around complaining most of the time. And the better things are going, the more they complain.
...there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.
For a moment, I debated whether I should tell someone about the words I'd started writing down, but I couldn't. In a way, I felt ashamed, even though my writing was the one thing that whispered okayness in my ear. I didn't speak it, to anyone.