More and more often nowadays I find myself not wanting to write.
I don't want to write.
There. I said it...and I'm pretty sure a part of my soul just died doing so.
That's the sad reality of it though. I want to write. I really, truly do. It's not like I've completely lost my passion for it. I mean, I've been writing since my mom taught me how to form the letter 'A'. By now, I can't not write. My brain gets so cluttered when I don't. My fingers itch for the familiar feeling of an ink pen and the beauty of words on paper. Yet, when I sit down to write I want to cry.
Why?
Because I can't bring myself to write with an impending feeling of doom hanging over my head. An impending feeling that I should be doing something else. That's what makes me want to bawl my eyes out in frustration.
Writing is my coping mechanism. For the longest time, writing was the only thing I thought I was good at. It's what made me me; what allowed me to be me. It's completely me. It's everything I've gone through, am going through, and may go through, It's my life.
Writing is as necessary to me as breathing and, darlings, right now I'm suffocating.
It hurts so bad not being able to sit down and write without feeling like I'm being a bad student because there are a dozen projects I could be working on in that moment. But then it hurts even more when I think about where my life is going and I wonder if I'll ever have time to write after graduation at all.
Have time to write...scoff...did you hear what I just said? I just broke one of the commandments of writing. "Thou shalt make time to write even when thou hast none to give."
My roomate asked me the other night how I could stare at a computer for so long. I didn't say anything, primarily because I was in a grumpy mood, but I thought, "Lots of practice." I used to be happy to get to the computer and write. I used to rush to it. I'd try to beat my siblings to it. Now I'm on it all the time checking emails, moodle pages, writing papers, doing interviews and research, working on journalistic stories for the school newspaper/my reporting class which no where satisfies my craving for creative writing.
I'm never on my computer working on my novel or that selection of short stories (which I'm actully in the process of turning into a blog series) I've been meaning to put together, or that children's book series based on my childhood teddy bear that I think would be a great idea, or any of the stories I've started strictly for DeviantArt purposes...and I HATE it. I LOATH it with a fiery passion.
I just want my characters back. I want to be able to sit down and write without feeling guilty. Even now, as I am writing this, I can name five different assignments I could be working on. The thought of them makes my gut twist in such a way that I'm tempted to stop writing right here and now, but if I did there would be no way I'd be able to sleep tonight.
My mind is heavy with thoughts and facts that I'm supposed to memorize, and a list of tasks I have to get done, and I fear that if I stop writing I may be reduced to a puddle of anxiety induced tears.
I've spent the last couple of weeks praying myself to sleep or listening to my detox playlist until I succumb to slumber. And every dream I've had has been nothing near restful. I've had work dreams, school dreams, dreams of horrible scenarios involving my family and friends that literally have me waking up wanting to puke...I'd like a dreamless night. Sadly, stress doesn't grant such requests and instead I just keep putting on a brave face and going about my day trying to keep my complaining to a minimum.
I mean, I'm dealing. I haven't had an anxiety attack or anything yet, thankfully, but I am more than a little peeved at life right now. I'm especially peeved at certain people who seem to think that I should be doing more or putting more effort in. Yeah, sure, cause you know I came to this school with the ultimate goal to burn myself out before I hit middle age.
Life demands more time than I have, but I'm trying really hard to make my own sunshine here.
A week ago, nearly two, I was back in Nebraska for spring break and one afternoon I was on my way home from Walmart with my mom and a van full of my siblings. One of my foster brothers said something about life not being fair and I responded to him by saying, "Life isn't fair. Life will give you lemons, but it's up to you to find the sugar to make the lemonade."
Finding the sugar is sort of my goal right now. Staying positive in a stressful time. Because a pitcher of bitter lemonade may still quench thirst but it doesn't completely satisfy and I want a life that I'm satisfied with. I want a life that when I'm old and grey I can look back on and say, "Yeah, not that was some good lemonade."
I don't even want just the lemonade. I want the whole freaking garden party.
I'm human and a human's life is as fragile as a candle's flame. It can go out at a moment's notice. It's short lived. Fleeting. It's mortal and I don't want the stress of my life to ruin it for me; to dictate whether or not I enjoy myself writing.
I've made some pretty big decisions lately. Some decisions that are kind of expected for someone my age but were pretty big deals to me because -would you know -I'm not a huge fan of change. In fact, i despise change and love organization. Lists, cell alerts, calendars, and planners are the only way I can get stuff done. I love time management. Probably a little too much.
I'll admit that I'm a bit of a control freak when it comes to my time. Which is probably one of the main reasons I'm so stressed lately. Kinks keep getting thrown into my schedules and I don't like it. It makes me irritated.
Just a couple days ago, I was complaining to my roommate (Yeah, I mention her a lot. We live together and we're friends. Deal. With. It) because I got on Facebook to send a message to someone about an assignment (yes, I was actually doing homework while on Facebook. It can be done) when I received four different requests from people wanting to hang out.
I groaned and said something like, "As much as I love so-and-so I just don't have time for this."
My roommate responded, and I applaud her for this because I really did need to hear it that day, by saying, "Yeah, it's sooooooooo horrible that you have friends who care about you and want to go out and do things with you. Friends are such a burden."
I was a bit taken aback at first but she forced me to stop for a minute and think about just how lucky I am. I mean, I do have some pretty awesome friends. The best, actually. And I'd rather hangout with them than stress about that one person that just won't respond to any of my messages but is essential to the assignment I'm working on.
You know what's funny? As soon as I acknowledged that my roommate was right and that I was overreacting, everything worked itself out.
It worked itself out so well that I actually got a couple hours of free time that day, which I used to play the Lego Batman 2 game I just bought for myself. I wanted to write, but I couldn't, due to previously mentioned reasons. So I opted to spend those two house vegging in front of the TV and guess what else. I even got to see one of my best friends and former roommates who was in town.
Okay. So, yeah. I'm stressed. Yeah, I'm a bit more than peeved at life right now. Yeah, I'm wishing I was doing more creative writing. But you know, life's not all that bad. There still is some sugar left in this life.
I've made it my goal tonight to not go to bed until I've completely exhausted myself from writing. I've written the whole next part of Refracted and am planning on editing and posting it before I hit the hay. I don't care how early I have to get up in the morning. I'm going to write to my heart's content tonight.
And that, darlings, is all I have to say for now.
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