Inspiration

Since the beginning of times I experience a quarrel with inspiration. I'd write for hours and hours on end and even have trouble finding the end of a text, as if inspiration was such a endless stream, just like one of those incessant rivers that lead to huge bodies of everflowing water, the disgraceful part of that, though, is that I only manage to write as much when given a theme. How can a writer depend on the guidance of a given theme? Who shall be the one to endlessly give me themes to write about if not myself? How can writing, this passion developed early at school when teachers told me to write essays on the most varied themes, prove itself to be such a journey into self-knowledge in disguise? If one does gives me a theme to write about, it`s a whole new array of thoughts, concepts and ideas I discover within me about that subject, it's quite a interesting fact, though, when not given a theme I struggle for hours on end unless I randomly start reviewing my own thoughts, concepts and ideas so I can write about them and it feels uncomfortable. Why should I write about any of the topics i chose ? I'm not any expert at them, so why should my thoughts about them be read by anyone? Why would it matter to a reader see the world through my eyes? Unless it's a marvellous, transcendental world-view it doesn't seem worth putting anyone through the disturbance? In a way it motivates me to try and bring myself to a better world-view, on the other hand, it demotivates me from practicing my writing skills. What a ingrate deadlock that is, isn't it?