I woke up this morning, dragged myself out of my cosy camper bed, to sit out in the cold, because I felt the urgent pulling need for a sit on my own.
A sit to write in.
And now I am here.
I don’t know what needs to come out. Something does. I can feel it. Pushing out against my skin, put pressure on every single atom of me. There is an urge so strong that I am sitting here writing frantically, desperately trying to drag it out of me.
What is it? What am I trying to say? What needs to come out?
I can feel it slipping away, dissipating inside me as I watch birds flit over the Scottish fell.
* I wrote this last week whilst camping in Scotland. It kinda captures the pull of writing, the pull of being on my own. And the agony when the writing slips away *
The title of this post pretty much sums up my attempts at writing blog posts these past few weeks. Actually no…it pretty much sums up how my life seems to feel far too frequently right now.
I have lost count of the times over the last few weeks I have sat down to write and ended up with nothing. Sometimes no ideas have come, sometimes they have come and I dismissed them as rubbish. Sometime I have just looked at the screen and thought – why? what is the point in it all?
I miss it when I don’t write. It is a way of processing my emotions and thoughts. Of thinking things through. It is a way of interacting with others when I can’t face actual real people. Or of saying things that I struggle to say ‘face to face’. Of sharing my happier adventures to go ‘hey look life with anxiety and depression isn’t always panic and sadness’. To say that living is possible…some of the time.
So I may not be writing as often as I would like. Or sharing the most positive informative posts right now. I am though still here, still blogging, not giving up. So yay, go me. I got this.
Any suggestions on dealing with this crisis of writing confidence/focus, send ‘em my way…pretty please. How do you cope when the doubts creep in?