We can't be great at everything

So I came to the conclusion that I suck at writing sci-fi.  The problem is that I get too wrapped up in my stories,  I always have seen myself as the main character in my work.  I tend to write in first person omnipresent POV.

Whether the story is fiction or real I can feel the main character's power or pain. On the other hand it puts my mind in the past because I always feel like I have been through the triumph or tragedy.  If I can't feel the story how can I expect my fans or readers to be in the story with me. 

To end my excerpt trilogy I have an section of writing from where it all began.  Here is a small sample from the first segment of my series FOR THE LOVE OF.  As usual thank you for reading it and I hope you all enjoy it. 

I remember driving down to Atlanta one weekend and getting really worried about David.  We discussed about meeting up that night but I was not sure where he lived. The plan was to call him from the Ansley Mall off Monroe so I could get directions to his house.  

When I got to the designated spot and called David he would not pick up the phone. I started to call him every thirty minutes.  I knew something was surely wrong. 

He finally got back to me and it was good thing too.  Hell, I did not know how to get to his house. While talking to him on the phone the first thing that he said was “Now when you get here please don't say I told you so.” Something was up.  

When I got to David’s house he basically told about being jacked by one of his “friend’s” cousin when he invited both of them to his home. David decided to have a little fun before I came down to visit. 

He said that he knew his friend for a while but he never met the guy’s cousin at all. So while putting a little spin on the game of Monopoly by putting some spanking rules in this dude's cousin took out a knife and stole about one-hundred and fifty bucks and cut my friend on the arm pretty bad. 

I drove David to the hospital where I stayed with him until he got stitched up.  It took about four hours all together. I was a real friend or at least I thought I was trying to be.  After that night I called him a few times but could not get him to answer the phone. 

When I went back to Atlanta some months later I saw him out at the club but I would not talk to him. He came up to me after the club was closed.   He told me that he had depression and the symptoms that comes along with it.  More than he can realize I knew exactly what he was feeling and talking about.