Huh. It has occurred to me in the last couple of weeks that I have writer’s block. I’ve written plenty, sure, but nothing I would consider to be a breakthrough, or interesting. Nothing that I would consider to be worth anything.
I’ve scribbled down a handful of poems tonight, and I just as quickly threw them all away.
My friend, Trina, asked me why I was in a funk today. Interestingly enough, I didn’t have much of an answer for her… but I was. I am. And the thing is, everything in my life, with the exception of a few small things at work, are fine. I think what may be concerning me is the fact that my life has been quiet lately.
I’m used to the chaos; I’m confident in the chaos of my life. When things get quiet, it’s eerie. It’s frightening. Unknown territory.
I’ve also started having doubts in certain parts of my life. Doubts of being good enough, or smart enough, or… just enough. I’ve never really had this issue before. I’ve never doubted myself, and in fact, have always considered myself to be a decently confident person. What has changed so drastically that I’m now feeling… I don’t know… temporary?
I suppose sometimes it’s better to feel temporary than hurt, but I’m afraid I’m falling in to an old trap or a self fulfilling prophecy.
I’ve found myself trying to accept the same advice that I’ve always given to others, and that is that we are the sum of our mistakes and our choices. What we’ve done has brought us here, and made us who we are. Those who have hurt us and the things that have injured us, gravely in some cases, have made us stronger or at least made us realize what we do and do not want.
I guess advice is easy to give when you stop considering the cost of how you got here. I guess now I’m paying for it, and I hate it. I find myself resenting things from my past, and resenting myself for decisions and… well, here I am. I seriously doubt that this entry will make any sense, but I’ll leave it at this: I’m here, aren’t I? Why isn’t that enough?