Hey there. How are you ?
That’s nice. How am I? well. not quite so fine.
See, its getting harder to breathe because all these words that I want to say are caught on my tongue, or something. I’m not really sure. All i know is i’d rather cut them out of me than fight to put them down on paper. And its honestly quite terrifying. To have all these damn words trying to crawl out of my skin at two in the goddamn morning at not being able to write a single one down and it turn out the way i want it to. the struggle for my own mental health is like going to war. even if i sleep for twelve hours straight, i wake up exhausted feeling like i hadn’t slept at all. i’m slowly going insane without access to the only creative outlet i’ve ever been remotely good at. its heartbreaking how impossible it is to bring a fucking pen to paper, to tap out a few strokes on a keyboard. even when i do get a chance to write, its rushed and disgusting and a disappointment.
there's so much shit in my life that is cluttering my mind and making it so hard to even focus. writing takes a backseat to everything these days. it used to be my saving grace, but now its like a lifeline that's always out of reach. everyday i tell myself that today will be the day that i write it down, get all this poison out of my system and turn it into something beautiful. face my fears and turn them into something that i can manage. and it never fucking happens. never. i'm still trying to love myself while loving everyone else and watching them love themselves so maybe i can learn how to too, and then maybe find myself enough again to do what i know makes me happy, and it actually make me happy. but so far it never works the way i hope for it too.
Is there anything you can do? No. Thank you kindly for wanting to try, but you’d only get caught in the crossfire.
(i'd apologize for the lack of capitalization, but i'm kind of too busy celebrating being able to write this much without having an anxiety attack. huzzah!)