(A secondary title for this was “It’s starting… again”)
The most difficult part of writing for me is finding inspiration. Sure, I could just write about anything, a lot of people do. But for me, it has to be something I am emotionally attached too in some way. Otherwise, I feel like it is just trite, or forced.
I spend quite a bit of time thumbing through photos, trying to find something that gives me that brief glimpse of “AH HAH!”, or I try to find something that compels me to want to write.
Well, today, that has failed me. I really don’t feel like writing, to be truthful. I don’t really feel like a whole lot of anything. Some of my anxiety is starting to come back, and I am feeling a lot of the same stress I was a few months ago. That does a lot to really make me unfocused or unable to concentrate. It takes a lot of the desire to write and makes it more of a burden.
I don’t like feeling like this. Where the world starts being a burden to bear or a path to slog through. It sucks the joy right out of me, and adds layer upon layer of stress over the top. I mean, food even starts to just be something I eat.
I feel like I am sharing too much, and that I am going to have people start diagnosing me, but as I said a long time ago, this isn’t about fixing me, this is about getting it out of me, admitting my flaws and weaknesses, because I think way to often, we hide our imperfections from other’s, afraid they may see us for who we really are, instead of the mask that we portray.
Well, I’m not scared. I’m screwed up, I’m imperfect, and I have a whole lot of problems when it comes to my self worth and feelings of acceptance.
Sometimes, the best inspiration to write about is just sharing the battlefield that I live on.
Even if it isn’t pretty.