Writer’s Block

It’s so hard for me to write poetry right now. I don’t know why, but I have a serious case of writer’s block. Sometimes, I wake up with beautiful lines of poetry stuck in my head but when I go to write them down, the words look awkward and clumsy.

I think I’m suffering from a serious case of missing inspiration.

So why am I suffering like this? When I was in Costa Rica, I wrote nearly every day for an hour or two, and I wrote some really great things. Whenever I make a new friend or go to a new place or try a new food, the same thing happens. I discover new things and learn new words or phrases to describe these things or the feelings I get when I discover them.

And I’m currently in a rut.

I always hate exam time, but this year is particularly hard for me. I have no interest in any of my classes or teachers at all. I feel like my two jobs have engulfed me and all my time. Even when I do have free time, I feel guilty when I enjoy myself because I should be doing homework or working out or writing my novel (oops, haven’t done that for a while…) or hanging out with friends I rarely see.

But all this extra stress just makes me want to curl up in bed and never leave.

This has all happened before. It always starts with the extra sleep, then I slowly start spiralling out of control into a giant ball of “I fucking give up”. And I find I’m always somewhere on the edge in all of this; I’m either so stressed about school and work and life that I can barely breathe or I just stop caring about everything and anything.

Currently, I’m at the not giving a fuck stage.

I’ve done nothing new or exciting in a really long time. I don’t do anything fun anymore. I’m desperately trying to scrape up the remains of all the excitement from last month, or six months ago, or last year even. But I’m living off of memories, and that’s not enough to sustain my creative imagination. I feel like I’m starving for a change of scenery.

Maybe it’s the long school hours or maybe it’s the long winter we’ve had or maybe it’s just my dysthymia telling me that this last month of school is going to be terrible. Whatever it is, it sucks, and my poetry is suffering because of this.

I’m completely moping and ranting in this blog post, but as I said before, zero fucks are given.


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