I’ve been lost for a while now.
My life, from the outside, seems pretty amazing. And without a doubt I am more lucky than I can say.
I have a family that fills my heart with so much warmth and joy that I struggle to describe it. We have our issues, but I have so much respect for each and every one of them and I don’t know where I’d be without them.
I have friends that are incredible people. That are always there for me when I need them, and I hope I repay the favour.
My job, though it’s not in an area that I want to get into, is pretty amazing. My boss is someone that treats me like an equal, who has answered all my incessant questions, and has always given me the time off that I need. He even supports my writing.
Not only that, it is right next door to my favourite cafe…
How fortunate can one person get?
And yet, I am lost.
I lack focus. Lack drive. My writing haunts me, and every day that passes without a word leaving my mind, everything gets.. Worse.
I lose myself in stories, because there I am alive. There I feel my body light up with feelings, curl in with pain. There, I feel something.
And though I know that if I wrote every day things would start getting better, still I cannot bring myself to just sit down, and bleed through my keyboard.
Which is why this is the first thing I have posted in close to four months. Which is why these words have stuttered on their way out, and crawled fearful onto the screen.
I apologise for the long silence. I apologise for this post not being what it should be.
But I am also glad that it is written. And I am holding my breath… Holding my breath hoping that this has enough weight to break through the ice that has frozen over my creativity.
Maybe, just maybe, it will begin to flow again.
And if it does I intend to drown myself in it.