untold stories

sketch of japanese buildings ~

I feel like I’ve gotten to a point where writing my own stories has become so impossibly difficult because I have so many other things floating in my mind. Every time I sit down to write, it’s like I’m putting this massive wet, cold blanket over my shoulders and I’m just sitting there with a slowly freezing heart. 

I love to write. I fell in love with writing once I became confident enough that I could string certain sentences together to portray my ideas. But lately it’s become painful. 

Writing has become painful because when I sit down and I can’t put down these ideas in my head, it makes me feel both frustrated and sad. Is there such a thing as a nearly year or longer writing block? Is it possible that my writing muscles have retired before they could even create something worthy of an audience?

I’m starting to think it’s also something to do with my mental state and how sometimes this overwhelming sadness just slides over me whenever I even imagine sitting down to write. 

But I want to write through these feelings. I want to create worlds that others could explore with me. I want to be successful and I want to accomplish one of the only dreams that has stayed with me through adolescence and my early and mid twenties. I miss writing like I would miss air when under water. I’m swimming through the current of life, surviving on air bubbles full of ideas and hope that maybe one day I will be able to write again. 

And if this is just a phase, it’s a really shitty one because I never asked to go through phases where one of my escapes has been hidden behind a locked mental door. 

I miss you writing. I miss your company at night when I should be sleeping. I miss your company in the shower when I didn’t have a pen and paper. I miss your company in those most impossible moments where I should be doing anything but writing.