When it eats you up slowly, it’s as if the first things to go are your brain and the ideas and the wonderful thoughts. It is then replaced by harrowing images of things you’re trying to get away from, reminding you everyday that you’re a person incapable of providing sense and meaningful prose to the world.
It’s hard to stare at a computer screen and then think, “What am I really going to write?” With the depression that sent me into a swerving hellhole, my ideas seemed like a figment of nothing. I was lost, and no matter how much I tried to urge myself to type or even to write on a piece of paper, I was bound by this fear of what my thoughts would actually say once I brought them out for the world to see.
For two months, I was like a sack of potatoes, languishing in self-loathing and fear and anguish. People who didn’t understand what I was going through didn’t care, and I shunned the people who were capable of helping me. In the past, if I fell into my despair, I’d always coped by writing my feelings, but that got taken away from me too. All the will and force I had were bottled up.
When I did decide to get some help, at least through some friends and family, I suddenly thought it was probably time to get back into what I loved to do. I was still scared that I would be bound by the things that haunted me for that part of my life, that I wish I can just forget, but slowly I’m building up my courage. Slowly.
I still didn’t know exactly what to write about. Yes, I got back into blogging again, but it was different when it came to writing something literary, like a short story. My mind was still zipped up. I’m glad, however, that my Germ family is here for me. After seeing January’s Writing Challenge theme, it was as if a ray of light burst into my room, and I said, “I’m going to write again.”
I truly missed that feeling, and I am glad I have it back.