A rather popular and prolific blogger I recently happened upon wrote a post about writing, which I suggest you check out.
Now I know there are a million-and-a-half blog posts out there that talk about the same thing, but this one stuck with me because of this particular image:
I don’t think I can adequately describe just how badly I want to do this—to feel this. Instead, my words are crammed down into the bottom of my chest, just below my heart, and encased by a gnarly prison of ribs. Unable to move, scramble, scatter, escape or congregate in even the slightest semblance of coherence.
There’s a dull ache of confusion and sadness balled up in a giant clenched fist, rooted firmly where my heart is supposed to be.
I don’t know if this is depression…and I’m pretty sure it’s not. I’ve felt depressed before, and it wasn’t like this. (If anything, this is great news).
I wish I knew how to fight my way out of this constructively. No matter how good I feel in the daytime, the still hours of the night bring with them a fog of fidgety annoyance that expertly strangles my thoughts and clogs my emotions.
All I see ahead of me is an intricate web of roads, and I can’t make heads or tails of any of them.
Where do I go from here?