What do you call writer's block if it has gone on for more than a year? It's not really a block at that point is it? It's something bigger. I have writer's continent, maybe.
Fuck that's dumb. Which is my point, I guess.
I just want to sleep. I am sitting at a desk that the family I am staying with got me for Christmas. It is a perfect little writing desk in a basement bedroom where I am staying rent free. The goal here was to write, but nothing. nothing, nothing, nothing.
And even if not writing, I actually have some editing work lined up that I really need to get on top of, but can't even do that right now. Can't focus. I just want to lay down in and wallow in my depression and tiredness and physical pain. I'm sure I will soon.
Girlfriend attacked me for being distant, accused me of pulling away. And she isn't wrong, exactly. But I am not pulling away from just her. I'm pulling away from everything. Not by choice. It is the opposite of my choice in fact.
The world just turns grey sometimes. I go numb. Turn into a ghost that can't taste or touch or be moved by anything.
Knowing I am hurting her sends me into a shame spiral. Funny how I can still feel all the negative feelings. Just not the positive ones.
I hate being depressed. I hate knowing I am depressed but not having the energy or willpower to do a goddamned thing about it.
It is a season. It will pass. I'm sure of it.
I am reading Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet as part of my morning meditations (something I've managed three mornings out of nearly a month here, but I digress), and this morning I read:
"the natural growth of your inner life will guide you slowly and in good time...which, as with all progress, must come from deep within and can in no way be forced or hastened."
"In this there is no measuring with time. A year doesn't matter; ten years are nothing. To be an artist means not to compute or count; it means to ripen as the tree, which does not force its sap, but stands unshaken in the storms of spring with no fear that summer might not follow. It will come regardless. But it comes only to those who live as though eternity stretches before them, carefree, silent, and endless. I learn it daily, learn it with many pains, for which I am grateful: Patience is all!"
I am waiting to ripen.
I am feeling growth pains.
I am the seedling pushing up from the dirt.
Give me patience.
Give me perseverance.
Give me strength.
and grace
and acceptance
and patience.
Give me a goddamned nap. Which I am going to take now.
11:09 a.m. - 2022-01-06
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