I Don’t Want to Write.

I’ve been really depressed the past few weeks. It doesn’t help that I’ve had so many doctor’s appointments. The weeks when I have a lot of them always grate on me, and lately it’s been four or five a week. Last week I had seven.

I try to make it easier on myself by getting a treat when I have more than two in day; I get a GF scone and eat it at the beach before dipping my toes in the water and heading back home. That always makes it a little better.

It’s just been too much lately though. And I’ve been sinking deeper and deeper into the dark.

I have no desire at all to write when I feel like this. My thoughts are so scattered that I can’t get anything coherent on paper and I just don’t care. Writing feels like a useless endeavor, let alone writing something to share in a post. I convince myself that it doesn’t matter to anyone but me. It’s not like it’s a job, no one is depending on me, I won’t lose out on a paycheck. Surely my not posting isn’t actually going to affect anyone or their change life or even their day.

So, I haven’t been posting. But I have been forcing myself to write anyway, even though I really don’t want to. I try to tell myself that if I can just get something started it will naturally unfold. That does work sometimes, but very rarely when I’m in this mental state.

Regardless, I continue to log-on to Zoom for my daily writer’s hour and write collectively with a couple hundred other authors from around the world. I’m not inspired by anything though, so my writing is often a jumble of disjointed ramblings scribbled into my journal. If I do start something on my laptop that I think could be worthwhile I often scrap it because it’s so scattered that I can’t find a theme or I just save it for another day because I can’t get past the first few lines. The number of unfinished writing projects on my laptop is absurd.

Being in this place is so frustrating. I don’t want to be here, but here I am.

I’m trying to be optimistic. I’m trying to remind myself that this will pass, it always does, eventually. The problem is, while I’m here, it seems to last forever.