At the stretch of my arms

I have been staring at empty pages, trying to think of something to write. There are a thousand things I can write about, I have a thousand opinions to share. But I don't want to write about any of them. Writing, I do not do it for the readers, I do it for myself. These opinions that I have, I do not have to write them down to know them, to understand them. I want to write about the things that confuses me, that haunts me, but I cannot. I do not have words to describe them. I do not have a starting to all the commotion in my mind. This situation is definitely not new, but it has never gone this long.

Tomorrow, may be tomorrow I will have the words, I will have this figured out. May be tomorrow I will have my life sorted out. May be tomorrow, everything will fall into place. May be tomorrow I will be happy without a doubt in my mind.
Tomorrow seems to be too far away.

We have the right to do what we want with our life. But, the extent to which we can stretch our arms depends upon where the other person's nose is. And we can not live this life without affecting other people's lives, even unintentionally. And we are taught to not hurt other people, and to be nice to all. It's really a simple concept, simple enough to follow, until one day everything collides, and you can't even stretch your arm a fraction, and it's uncomfortable and in an attempt to being nice to all, you realize you are not being so nice to yourself.

Then, tell me, what do you do?

How can you undo the done, unhurt the hurt?
Can you give up on yourself just so everyone is okay but you?
And if you don't do that, will you be okay?

They say time heals all wounds. May be I should leave it to time to heal all. May be if I wait, all will be okay.  But does time work at the same speed for all?  And what if I heal the first? I am where I started. We have the right to do what we want with our life as long as what I do won't hurt you.