Today, I saw that an old post from November 2017 was read a couple of times – today. I am not one who looks at the stats all day long, but I noticed this because it is a special post to me. (That said, I usually take a moment in June to reflect on the first half of the year on the blog… Expect a post about that soon)
I remember that particular post from November very well. I remember exactly when I wrote it and why. I know what happened before and what happened after.
It’s quite painful to read all of these words again. They were at the beginning of a dark and depressive phase in my life and I am not completely out of the woods yet. I have been fighting and struggling for three years.
Recently, I discovered that I am actually a mediocre writer at best. I keep repeating the same words and phrases; I keep replaying the same scenes and moments. And my writing became dull. Unimportant. Irrelevant.
There are many many amazing writers out there. There are musicians who write lyrics so powerful that they make the listener tear up.
I am not one of them. Not anymore.
I am sorry.
I lost my most important muse and stopped listening to the music that makes me feel. It is as if I am overwhelmed all the time, yet numb too. It is as if I am censoring myself and hiding behind the mask of the person I am expected to be.
I am exhausted. I haven’t slept properly in four days. And I can’t do it anymore.