filled with false hope.
i've tried everything i know to get them back. i'm at my wit's end -- a whole weekend of silence has been too much.
re-read two novels of mine. nothing. re-coded my entire writing website. nothing. re-read my entire livejournal. nothing. went swimming. nothing. told my friends what was up. nothing. re-read posts on nanowrimo. nothing. read other people's work. nothing.
nothing seems so little to describe what was actually lost. i lost inspiration, friends, ideas, my purpose for getting up in the morning, my drive, my family, my...my life.
i've always said it -- writing is my life. what do you do when your life turns its' back on you? i finally understand "helpless" -- what do you do when your calling might be a wrong number? sorry, katie, you're not a writer after all. are people's expectations going to change about me? are my own expectations going to change? what if i can't through this? what if i can't write ever again the way that i used to be able to?
i am so terrified and i hate sleeping. i don't have anyone to lull me to sleep with inklings of plot ideas. but i don't have anyone interrupting my daily thoughts either, so it's better to be unconscious and deal with this.
and i HATE sounding like a crazy person.
i couldn't even tell my mother. i couldn't tell her because i know how she doesn't trust writing to begin with. i couldn't tell my sister either -- she might read it here though.
it's like someone closed like giant iron door on my brain and i don't know the combination anymore. 10-20-38. 41-17-27. 30-4-34. 17-22-17. 24-38-6.
all combinations i've had. none that work. nothing works.
re-read two novels of mine. nothing. re-coded my entire writing website. nothing. re-read my entire livejournal. nothing. went swimming. nothing. told my friends what was up. nothing. re-read posts on nanowrimo. nothing. read other people's work. nothing.
nothing seems so little to describe what was actually lost. i lost inspiration, friends, ideas, my purpose for getting up in the morning, my drive, my family, my...my life.
i've always said it -- writing is my life. what do you do when your life turns its' back on you? i finally understand "helpless" -- what do you do when your calling might be a wrong number? sorry, katie, you're not a writer after all. are people's expectations going to change about me? are my own expectations going to change? what if i can't through this? what if i can't write ever again the way that i used to be able to?
i am so terrified and i hate sleeping. i don't have anyone to lull me to sleep with inklings of plot ideas. but i don't have anyone interrupting my daily thoughts either, so it's better to be unconscious and deal with this.
and i HATE sounding like a crazy person.
i couldn't even tell my mother. i couldn't tell her because i know how she doesn't trust writing to begin with. i couldn't tell my sister either -- she might read it here though.
it's like someone closed like giant iron door on my brain and i don't know the combination anymore. 10-20-38. 41-17-27. 30-4-34. 17-22-17. 24-38-6.
all combinations i've had. none that work. nothing works.