Pages From My Journal

No love left

As a person, I've always craved affection and loved people hard.

As a writer, I flood pages with love, yet, I write about women who run away from love.

As a person, I find relationships repulsive.

As a writer, I only write about people looking to be relationships or in relationships.

At last, I've reached that point in my life where everything is a big clusterfuck. It seems complicated and messed up and... wrong... I don't know how to write about.., anything actually.

I know what you're thinking, Jesus stop exaggerating. But I'm not. I'm serious. I haven't picked up the pen in over a month. And I'm panicking. How do I cope emotionally? Am not emotional anymore? Have I shut down completely? Or am I just not coping anymore? I'm scared about everything. I'm scared right now, as I confess about these terrifying thoughts. It isn't a sin so I can't make it sound hot by saying, "Forgive me father for I have sinned."

Its way more pathetic. "I'm sorry Chhavi. I'm sorry that you cry and you cant stop crying by putting it on paper. I'm sorry you don't know how to deal with happy things in your life because it seems too surreal. I'm fucking sorry that you don't have anyone to crush over at the moment and so maybe your bulb of creativity is non functional. I'm sorry that sometimes there are moments in your life where you cant control everything and your life cracks right down the middle. I'm sorry that the scent of Tender Romance and tons of Italian food isn't doing it for you anymore. I'm sorry you don't miss him anymore and cant give a shit about her anymore. I'm sorry words don't sink into your fucking soul anymore. I'm sorry people stress you out and speaking up seems like a waste. I'm really really sorry you don't feel like yourself anymore and it hurts you and your scared of being sad because sadness fucking sucks."

Do I have to love to write? Is that it?

I tried to love Rhyles and Kodaline again. But I cant touch them or reach them .

I thought about it for a long time. I came up with a few theories too. Initially I thought I've gone absolutely fucking rabid, accidently incinerated my brain cells or something. But my brain was working so it was probably just my creativity and drive to write that was expired or incarcerated. Didn't make sense... so philosophically I decided that life is a circle and maybe I just have to go back to what made me, me. I started dancing again, I cried and threw a few tantrums, wrote sad shit in my journal, cleaned my room. Still nothing. I didn't listen to Zara Larson again though, I cannot do that to my ears.

My friend asks me to wait it out. I guess this is writer's block. Maybe I should accept it instead of lamenting it and fighting it. But... I'm scared I'll lose this. Can I wait? Can I be patient? Can I be okay with this?

My body says no... My brain just wants to read "Group Therapy' and my heart... its fucking sad. Maybe I need to fall in love again? I'll just wait it out I guess.

3/2/22