I'm not even sure what to write about.. I just feel so uninspired here lately. I want to write something amazing and moving, but I don't even think I can anymore. I feel like a huge chunk of my brain has suddenly somehow disappeared. Logically I know that hasn't really happened, but it sure does seem like it.
It is the most awful thing I have ever felt.. I'm usually very good with words, but recently things have dramatically changed. Sometimes I can't even find the words to make a complete, coherent sentence. I know everyone is going to say, "That is because of your Eating Disorder," but I don't think that is the case here. Before Remuda I was the sickest I have ever been, and I wrote exceptionally well. I wrote better then than I do now! I really don't understand what has happened to me. I have been experimenting with some drugs, but not any that would affect my brain function this much. Being brain-dead is my WORST fear, and I'm afraid that it is slowly becoming my reality.
Everything is so confusing. I don't know where, or who, to turn to. I don't want to live the rest of my life like this, but I honestly don't know what else to do. I can't cope with reality on my own. I've tried. As I've written about before, I've never been able to handle every day situations very well. So I think that I can honestly say that I have never known how to cope any efficient way. My coping mechanisms have always been screwed up and somehow destructive. Writing is the only thing that even begins to help, and that is slowly fading too. I just don't know what to do. If I can't write, I won't survive. I know that sounds over-dramatic, but I'm completely serious. Writing has saved me from death more times than I can count. It was the suicide letters I wrote a few months ago that stopped me from actually committing suicide. It was the letters to my best friend in the world that kept me trying for as long as I did. It was the thousands of journal entries that has kept me from slicing my wrists open and spewing blood all over everything. It was the self-narrating in my head that kept me from running away when I was young and missed my dad. I started writing in my head even before I knew how to spell my name. It helped me sort things out, things made more sense when I strung words together either in my head or on paper. I never once decided writing was something I wanted to try doing, it always just came naturally. And when all of the sudden it doesn't come naturally, I freak out. I know a lot of writers get 'writer's block' but I never have. I've always had something to say, even if it is temporarily irrelevant. So needless to say, I don't really know how to deal with not knowing.
I catch myself wishing things could be the way they used to be, until I realize how screwed up that was as well. I guess I just want things to be somehow different. I wish I knew the words to explain what I want, but I don't. Therapists and doctors and friends and family always ask me what I want, and I never really have a solid answer. It's especially annoying when they go so far as to ask me what I need. If I can't even be sure of what I want, how the hell am I supposed to know what I need? I just hope that someday I will live a relatively 'normal' life. Meaning: have a solid career, have a family, go to church, be recovered, be happy more often than sad, have a better understanding of myself and the world around me, and most importantly, still be able to write. I know this may sound silly and insane, but writing is probably the most important thing to me. More important than even my own family. I know that may sound awful, but family will hurt you and eventually die. Writing won't, at least it shouldn't anyway. I think that even when I get too old to speak, I will still be writing in my head. I think that even if I shall forget every word I know, I will still somehow find some way to write. It's in me, in my soul. It just hurts me to know that I may be losing the ability to write well. Anyone can put words together to make a paragraph, but not everyone can make it become alive. And though I am not generally proud of myself, that is one thing I am proud of. My ability to turn simple words into actual beings. Things that provoke feelings and inspire action. Things that sometimes take my own breath away without returning all of it. Things that make even the worst days seem moderately tolerable. Things that have kept me alive for years when it was easier to just give up and die. Things that sometimes make me question my own existence. Things that have taught me more than any person ever could. If I lose that, I lose everything.
This feeling is sickening. I don't know how to explain exactly what it is I'm experiencing, but it's something like inspiration and failure, at the same time. Is there even a word for how that feels? I would like to know it, and use it a little more than sparingly. I think I am going to get in the shower, but I'll probably end up writing more later on tonight.
