Introvert Life

When the Writing Stops

It’s happening again. There is a shift approaching, remain calm. You tell yourself that you can do it; if not for anyone else, then do it for you. Don’t stop the one thing you know you feel good about. A voice, barely louder than a whisper, floats to the front of your mind. You’re trying to avoid it, but sometimes the urge is too strong. You feel it deep down in your heart, the pressure building. You try to resist, but you know it’s too late when the writing stops.

Louder and more forceful, a different voice enters your mind. It sounds stranger than your own, it turns encouragement into ammunition, manipulating the words of others to fuel the discontent you have with yourself. Do you think they’re sincere? You’re wasting your time. Each time you let someone inside, they like you a little less. Now you’re vulnerable. You let everyone know how pathetic you are. You can see a way out, but the door moves further away from you the longer you let the voice linger. The words wrap around you, adding more weight as the door transitions from being ajar to closed.

The glow of your phone replaces the twinkle in your eyes. Writing is not the only thing that stopped. The pressure builds, snuffing out any remaining hints of a passionate fire. You’re nothing again. A cog.

Then you remember that this is not the first time and it won’t be the last time, you have to keep trying. You have to ransack your brain to uncover your true self. The one that knows people are genuine, the one that knows you are worthy, and the one that knows this is only temporary and is not the real you. Little by little, you can feel the warmth circulating through your body. You remember how to stand. You remember how resilient you are because you keep trying over and over again. You remember how bad it feels when the writing stops and how powerful it is when you start. You’re going to try to take it one day at a time. As your voice reminds you that you can do it; if not for anyone else, then do it for you.

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