Writing has always been a form of therapy for me. As a kid, I used to daydream as a means of escape from boring or stressful situations. To be honest, I don’t think I paid much attention in school at all. As I grew older, I would scribble my frustrations in notebooks and type away my feelings on keyboards. I’ve never found anything that matched the relief it brought me.
But what do you do when you can’t bring yourself to write?
Since I was a kid, I’ve had days where I beat myself up so bad that I couldn’t even bring myself to pick up a pen. I obsessed over meeting high standards, and my lack of interest in listening to lectures didn’t help. It only meant that I had to teach myself everything I missed overnight. Sometimes, I would think I was a supreme failure, destined for a life on the streets.
Even as an adult, I still carry some of those feelings. Whenever I spot my degree in the back corner of my closet, I feel them. I have a thesis to my name, but I squander my college years by scrubbing boats and polishing bells. To me, it’s like I wasted the first eight years of adulthood.
These are the days when I cannot write. Even though I know it will make me feel better, I can’t seem to conjure up the will to start. But to be honest, I’m getting better at overcoming such hurdles.
Today felt like one of those days. I’m behind on my writing schedule and dealing with a clogged vacuum, a broken laptop, and a swollen knee that’s keeping me from running. My will to write was pretty much gone before I even woke up. Ironically, it’s this loss of will that’s helping me dig a deeper hole. I don’t’ write because I’m upset over falling short of my goals, and I fall even shorter because I’m not writing. It’s a vicious cycle.
Despite my lack of motivation, I’ve finally managed to post something new. It’s terrible practice, but the only way I ever seem to get over my slumps is just to work through them. I didn’t feel like writing a single sentence this morning, but I forced myself to put all my distractions aside and begin typing. In the end, brute force seems to be the only way I know how to handle myself.
I’m already starting to feel like a writer again.