Why Can’t I Write?

I once wrote in a journal of mine that “Happy people don’t write in journals”. I stand by this statement. I’ve only ever been able to write about my life when I couldn’t stand it. The worse my life was, the more devoted  I was to recording my pain.

I have no idea if this is also applicable to my creative writing, all I know is I can’t get a single word out. I have at least one story idea, but no real motivation to write it right now. Any other stories I’ve previously had have fled to parts of my mind unknown, and seemingly unreachable.

I love writing.

It’s such am amazing feeling, weaving together words into something other people can actually experience.

But the thing about any artistry composed entirely of words is that they become real only through the unbridled and raw emotions that the author inserts into the narrative, echoes of their own emotional turmoil.

Maybe this is then the answer as to why I can find no ability to write.

I’ve lived through a variety of emotional lows and highs.

I’ve spent at least half a year in the throes of depression, and other months I’m happier than a baby with his favorite toy.

But when I sit and try to write I feel as dry as an unused ink well.

I feel, in every sense of the word, nothing.

I miss writing.

 

 

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Me First

This has been a really hard and new year for me. To be honest it been the year of “new”.

New life goals, new life, new home… lots of new.

Though some things seem to have fallen perfectly into place, others have been a series of trials and error.

In this time of experimentation and learning, I’ve learned a very important lesson.

Me. First.

I was recently working a really crappy job for less then minimum wage, on top of wedding planning, school, and a special physical condition.

I thought I could handle it, I needed money so I was convinced that working was my only option as I tried to juggle all these other commitments.

I was constantly stressed. wedding planning wasn’t getting done, I couldn’t concentrate on school, I felt like an outsider at work most days. My fiancĂ© and my mother were constantly telling me to rest, and not to stress. They even tried to get me approval for a medical leave my health was suffering so much from this one stupid job.

In the end, I quit.

And it wasn’t until after that I realized I was a whole lot happier.

I was still busy with school and finals, and I still had an entire wedding to plan.

But I was a lot less stressed.

More importantly, I was happy.

I am so much happier.

And so I learned, with all the ups and downs my life has taken, I need to be happy.

I don’t have to rely on someone else or for the right circumstances, I need to make myself happy.

Even if it means giving up the extra $400 a month I was making, the money we’ll probably save on medications, both mental and physical, and just how much easier and nicer life is now that I can enjoy it again I think will make up the difference…

So this is my advice.

Put you first. Your health and your happiness.

Sometimes that may not be completely feasible, I know… but just find something, some small thing to make the days brighter and life a little more pleasant.