Here it goes again. I sit at my desk, hold a pen and a paper, and totally freeze. All I can scribble are some asymmetric lines and shapes, or words from the song I’m listening to, a song ironically supposed to bring my muse back to life again. All I can think of is that it’s better than laying my head in my hands, staring to the void and thinking of nothing. Or may be that’s just a way to excuse myself, to ease my scared mind.
You see, the few things I’ve written were never just ink on paper. They were feelings shared with a pen when nobody was there to listen and understand. They were thoughts roaming in my mind, driving me to the brink of insanity. They were views, believes, ideas striving to get out of their cage. They were Me trying to save myself from the torment devouring me.
And all that seems to have just disappeared. And it breeds a lot of fear and confusion. I can see the word “expression” slowly erased from my dictionary. I don’t know who is erasing it. After all may be it’s just me.
Now the hypothesis being that words are Me scattered on a piece of paper, a sensible analysis would say that the absence of words suggests the absence of Me. And I personally think that it’s true to a certain extent. I have just become so indifferent lately. I find myself uninterested in mostly everything. And nothing seems to move my heart anymore. When I’m depressed at moments I simply ignore it. Not that I forsake that cherished feeling for happiness. No. Just nothingness, emptiness of the mind and the soul. And I hate it so dearly.
I want to feel and write about it. I want to think and express it. I want to find a new inspiration. I want Me to get back to life. Could it be I’m killing myself without knowing it? Or is this just a phase everybody goes through? I will never know. I can only hope that it will soon go away.
May be all I lack is the belief. May be if I convince myself I can do it, I eventually will. May be if I hold that pen again and never put it down till a phrase is written, another one will follow. But what if it doesn’t work? I really feel helpless. I hate this numb me. I have always believed that when you put your mind into something, nothing and no one can ever stop you from reaching it. But in this case, my believes seem to have betrayed me. You know, sometimes I even think that all my believes are influenced by social propaganda and that they need urgent renewal. But hey, I think more then I act. I’m such a lazy person, aren’t I?
I don’t know. I was just so unable to write anything lately. I would force myself to think of something, to imagine some situation, but never succeed. So I just figured I’d write about not writing. Cause that’s the only thing I’m living right now. I’m living the death of words. I hope it’s just a temporary death. I hope that all these letters and lexis are just having a nap somewhere deep inside of me, just taking a rest and waiting for the right time to wake from there slumber again. And I also hope that when they rise again they won’t deceive me.
I don’t know if anyone really knows how it feels to be drained of all thoughts and feelings. I don’t even know if someone is actually experiencing this same thing. But I guess it would bring me relief to think there is. The annihilation of the possibility of being alone in any case just creates a certain back up of power, comfort, and tranquility. So if anyone out there can actually read his own thoughts between those lines, don’t hesitate to share. And if there isn’t I guess I’ll just convince myself with the opposite. I’ll be living another lie but what the heck.