Not There Yet

I’m still going through a dry spell–but it’s lasted so long, I’m beginning to think that I’ve just lost “it.” I’ve always wanted to be a writer, always thought I could write, but now I’m not so sure. I can’t seem to write about anything of consequence. I have a theory though. It’s about my mind. But it’s not at all comforting: I think I’ve talked myself into not using it fully.

I’ve just come through a pretty traumatic period of my life, so traumatic that I can’t bear to be reminded of it. I can’t stand the strong and negative emotions certain things evoke. I won’t listen to music anymore, which is a pity because I used to really enjoy it. I stopped going to church, something that once was very meaningful for me. Which is exactly the point: I don’t want to be reminded of anything that once caused deep feelings. So, how can I possibly write anything that touches anyone if I don’t allow myself to be touched?

When I do write something, it’s as an artisan, not an artist. I go through the motions, I employ the techniques, I churn out reasonably well-crafted words. But the spirit is missing. I’ve lost my ability to plumb the depths of my soul. And that makes for bland reading indeed.

I don’t know how to break through the walls that I’ve built in my mind. Maybe when the pain of not being able to write becomes greater than my fear of feeling. It’s getting bad, but I’m not there yet. I just hope that someday I will be.

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