closet writer

I haven't been able to write in a very long time. Is this a writers block or an indication that I choose another profession? I don't know what to do.

Another year. I have existed for 365 days extra. I keep wondering how many of them I need endure. Unfailingly I upset myself before the clock strikes midnight. I don't even need reasons anymore. Every time I realise I have lived another year, I ask myself why I didn't exit last year itself. I don't think I want to die as much as I don't want to live like this. They're two different things you know, at least for me. If I could just exist in a room without having to worry about making money or becoming successful, I'd be alright. The mediocrity of it all stresses me out. How average everything is. How inconsequential I am as a human being. Why am I even here when for the past 15 years every part of me has wanted to go. Why can't I just go. I just want to go.

Hello. Im thinking lonely souls, some of those of course shinning more of believing to find another one. To be happy together being - close. Have a good day aww.

Hello. No, I didnt saw animation up side down. Much love for you.

What is your Love ?

Hi. Behind the window day beginning not pretty nice. Where is the Sun? Where is the light to give for us more and more bright? Hide, because of clouds. Cop of coffee and tea I would like to drink with you when I will walk,simple come by from between of rain drops, without invite - suprise ! True is I need just small a little bit of a hug.I will paint sky give me your smile and good day have.

Thanks always can be better i will try make positive vibrations from sunny beautifull weather and vice versa take care plus anyway have also a good day.

:) hello, sorry but for example i like to traveling also when im sleeping. Warmth its even in dreams so much reminding real(ity), i dont wanna wake up. Many love to U. Miau

The sadness engulfs you when you least expect it. It tears apart at your flesh but you can’t see any physical evidence of it taking place. It walks upon your chest with the beat of the drum pulsating through your ears. It travels down your limbs carrying your frayed thoughts, making you believe in the presence of sensations that do not really exist. And somewhere between the distant gentle droplet sounds of an owl and the clock striking 4 a.m, you realise it isn’t the sadness, it is the fear of revisiting the sadness that’s alarming your brain to freeze within itself.

Writing is the only thing that completely diverts my mind when my anxiety strikes and causes my brain to climb up vines of thoughts that mislead into infested dungeons rather than the high clouds. It the only thing that changes my direction from this sudden ‘fear of death’ I seem to have inculcated. It is the only thing that calms me down.

You and I, we keep falling in love with each other; just not at the same time.

Will you still call it a rainbow if you see 7 curved lines in black and white, arching over a waterfall?

Please understand, a person willing to run a blade on their skin doesn’t necessarily like physical pain. They do it only to shift the focal point of their pain; because when there’s excess blood running down their thigh, they’re forced to tend to their wounds. Their reflex for survival is the only thing holding them from actually dying. So before you shame someone for having self harmed; think about how many times they tried to save themselves from exiting the world first.

You are wonderful writher by the way Now im on high, yes. Your melody of doesnt strange for me words With wind sounds like poetic beauty talk Make more and dont stop Please put in there little bit more light From your deep, deep inside I would like to see how bright you are now All you shine I come by just to say Hi You are smart strong Never give up! Of course and much love

Why you not continue writing?