I honestly considered not doing this. I very much thought that I shouldn’t, because I’m not even sure I have the right to call myself a writer at this point. I’m finding it exceptionally hard to focus, to put in the effort. I haven’t put metaphorical pen to metaphorical paper in ages. I still write, sort of. I roleplay with a friend of mine, and the words flow easily in response to her replies. But I don’t really write my books anymore.
I consider myself ‘trying’, if only because I truly do want to write, I just… can’t seem to get around the block, the stumble, the ‘I should, but can’t’. I have time, time I spend on tumblr or youtube instead. I have energy, sometimes. Not often anymore, but sometimes. I blame my circumstances, and say to myself “You’re better than this, push through.” But… Honestly, I wonder if I am.
It’s the same with languages. I’ve always wanted to learn ASL and Japanese and Spanish. But I never seem to be able to put in the actual work. Only 180 words into this very article, and I’m having a hard time wanting to continue writing it at all, much less keep typing. My mind wanders, my eyes grow heavy, and I suddenly feel exhausted beyond measure. The same thing happens with housecleaning, with gardening, with anything I try. I feel lost and broken and lazy and spoiled. I feel selfish, because people are demanding things of me that I can’t provide. I feel, on my Bad Days, that I shouldn’t exist at all, because that would be easier than slogging through all of this.
I haven’t been to see my therapist in three weeks. I don’t have another appointment set up. I bathe maybe once every five days, when I can force myself to get up the energy to do it, because if I don’t, I just… don’t. I’m broken, in that I don’t feel that sense of accomplishment everyone gushes about. It’s not there. I finish things, I do things, I work hard, and I don’t feel that glow everyone describes. I just… feel like I haven’t done enough. It’s heartbreaking, and it makes me not want to try at all.
In the last four days, I have cleaned both the kitchen, bathroom and living rooms of this house, plus done more laundry than I’ve seen done in the entire history of my living in this house, plus at least two loads of dishes a day, plus watering the tomato and rose plants, and cleaning up my own room which was a pigsty. This is a massive amount of work. Trust me. But… I don’t feel accomplished. All I can think about is the fact that I haven’t done ENOUGH. That I keep being asked to do more, more, more, as if I’ve failed somehow.
I can’t explain it, properly. And I can’t tell you how to fix it; because I think, perhaps, there are no ways to fix it.