What would I do with a blog if I had one? I thought I had that figured out. That first year, it was just what I needed to get and keep me writing every day. I met my goal, posting every day day (with a few exceptions). So what happened?
I don’t know. It’s not writer’s block, at least not as I’ve experienced it before. Those times, I still wanted to write, felt connected to writing. This time, I’m just empty. I used to rely on words, build walls around myself with them. I could hide behind them for protection or lean on them for support. Even if I weren’t writing something to post, I’d journal. Words helped me figure out what I was feeling. Words helped me process those feelings, and navigate relationships, and alleviate stress. They were my release valve whenever life felt too overwhelming.
Not anymore. Not lately. I’ve tried writing a few times this month. I have several unfinished poems in my writing folder that I look at once in a while. I don’t like anything about any of them, but I haven’t deleted them. Yet. I stare at them like they’re strangers who have broken into my house. What do they want from me? Why are they here? They stare back, urging me to remember that I’m the one who invited them and left the door open. We don’t trust each other. I leave them alone in the living room and go back to sleep.
Maybe this is writer’s block. I don’t feel like a writer, though. More likely, it’s depression. Again. Still. I blame September and all its craziness for knocking me out of my orbit. Days go by without my thinking about this blog or writing at all. It’s not that I’m too busy with other things, or sick, or stuck. I’m just…not writing. Not missing it. Not thinking about it. Not trying. Not showing up.
For now, I’ll keep the blog. Maybe this—whatever it is—will clear, and I’ll find myself in love with words again. Maybe I’ll welcome the challenge and the discipline again.
Meanwhile, there’s candy. Happy Halloween.