It has been a while since I have written anything, and for the past 2 days, I have felt this more acutely. This being the emotions that stopped me from writing. Procrastination is a symptom, but if I really look deep it is all related to my perception of my own worth. “I have nothing good to say. My writing is shit. No one will read it.” ad infinitum. Negative thought cycles have been a constant hurdle, not just in my writing.
I don’t struggle against it, but instead dig myself deeper into the quicksand. I’m under the surface, but my arms, my body, feels heavy with the sand. I can’t act, can’t reach out for help, or seemingly help myself. My time in moment repeat. I don’t know how long I’ve been telling myself to get up, make a coffee, have a cigarette, eat, get up, make a coffee, eat, have a cigarette. I don’t talk to single person all day. My mind and body have betrayed me. Yet I am my mind and body.
The moment is all there is. The pain that I know right now is better than the pain in the future. I can’t write, can’t start a conversation with a cute man, can’t make that coffee. I blankly stare at my familiar ceiling; sunlight filters from behind curtains across. I do not see, eyes unmoving, body unmoving. What does it matter how long I have been lying here.
Later. Again, unmoving fingers on keyboard. Waves of tension fingertip to eye. Each slow word, letter, strained out, pushed back in, strained out again, until a finger pressed down.
Negative thought cycles are totally illogical. This truth, I understand, but don’t believe. I’m a logical, rational and critical thinker, but my mind is illogical. I know what I have to do that will make me better, well, better at managing my mind. The sharks circle closer and closer. I do nothing.
I was doing so well. It was such an effort.
Feeling distressed? Please, see my “getting help now” tab at the top of the page.