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I Don’t Know

May 9, 2016

I don’t know how to say this, but I feel like I’ve lost my voice. I don’t know what to write about anymore. I could write about how great my relationship is going, but I think saying, “Things are great,” repeatedly feels like bragging and would get boring. I want to write about politics, however, even that gets tiring and tedious. Or I could write about how I’m overcoming my anxiety every day thanks to my relationship, but alas…that too seems like it would get boring after a while. Simply put: I feel like I’ve lost it. Or maybe I’ve gotten lazy.

See…it feels like laziness to me because I have the thoughts and rants and ravings in my head to write and I just never get them out because I can’t be arsed. I feel like that line from the Revenge of The Sith novelization, “you are like a painter gone blind, a composer gone deaf, you can remember where the power was but the power you can touch is only a memory,” that truly is how it’s feeling these days. I remember what it felt to feel creative and to want to write, I just have trouble tapping that inner-fury. That…rage at the world and the injustice around me. Is it age? Is it wisdom? Is it apathy? It is contentment?

I don’t know anymore. Here’s what I do know, though: I hate it. I hate having thoughts in my head and being unable to get up the gumption to write about them. I hate that I have to feel miserable to be my best creatively. What kind of fucked up neuroses is that?! Oh, it was easy to feel miserable when it was my friendship with someone making me miserable. I could delve into that well and pull up some fury. I could arrrrghasm till the cows came home. I could make the words come to me; it was my muse.

Now I just feel like I’m playing The Rascals’ A Beautiful Morning in my head every day–which I don’t mind. I love that song, but it gives you a good idea of where my head’s at these days. Shit’s not really getting to me like it used to. I suppose clinically that’s called progress, but it’s sad too. Maybe I need to find another force to spark up my creativity because clearly anger, sullenness, and misery are not in my vocab these days.

I’m Robert Baratheon without the whoring or the woman looking to kill me. I’m just…too content. I know I should feel this way and it’s a great feeling. After so much strife I feel like things are starting to click for me. I really have nothing to complain about. I’m not lonely. I have a mostly thriving social life. I’m doing things. I just wish I didn’t feel like I was allowing my creativity fall by the wayside because I’m doing things.

My therapist brought up the idea that I’m not in a creative place right now so it’s harder for me to get to that place again. I would agree with that assessment. I also don’t have anyone to bounce my ideas off of any longer. Soo…yeah…hopefully this fall helps to reignite in me my passion, because this is the pits. Guess if it gets the ‘voice’ to stop that constantly tells me I’m dying, it can’t be all bad. I just have ideas I want to get out but just cannot get to a frame of mind that works for me.

The worst part is that, for me, it confirms in the back of my head that the negative voice was correct about me and that I’m a fraud. And that’s not exactly getting me where I want to be thinking like that. Okay. Now I’m starting to repeat myself. I’ll write more tomorrow, I think. I…think I’m gonna reboot my web log a bit.

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