I spent a lot of time trying to write this one.
I wanted to write a post for New Year’s Eve and tell you all of the things I wanted to happen this year. All of the things I wanted to do this year. Things that 2020 stole from me. Things that I held back from myself and didn’t do or say or take or be.
At midnight, in the silence of my room, Angel and I sent each other instant messages of “Happy Jumanji!” but it wasn’t the same as any other New Year’s Eve I’ve ever had.
There were no video games, or angry Muppet sounds at the TV when what I should’ve been doing was playing Mario Kart, or Mario Party, or some other obnoxious game like Overcooked 2 with my mom. The same way we spent every New Year’s Eve, staying up too late and playing video games together.
I wanted to write another on New Year’s Day.
I wanted a fresh start. The ability to attain and become someone brand-new, and maybe everything would be alright. But that didn’t happen either.
Instead, I sat here at my desk, staring at a blank word document and a blank notebook page trying. I do that a lot lately; I spend a lot of time trying. Trying to cook dinner. Trying to write. Trying to read. Trying to be a person. I never thought I’d have to say that, that I was trying to be a person. I do that a lot.
I spend my time trying to be a person, trying to get through the pain. The pain in my leg which is still almost constant, even though the injury is now 161-days old. That’s nearly 6-months. Six, long, painful months in which I haven’t been able to walk properly. Where the headaches and migraines and anxiety are so strong that there are some days where I cannot leave my bed. It doesn’t matter how much I sleep- I’m still exhausted. And I’m still trying.
Some days I want to give up, and it’s almost impossible not to. I’ll lay in bed and know that I should get up. Know that I should shower, spend time with my animals, spend time with family or do something else. Anything else. But this dark cloud hanging over me, the heavy weight of it all is crushing me. The weight of not being able to write, or get my feelings out, or down on paper is crushing me.
So, from now on, this isn’t going to be a writing blog.
Because I don’t do a whole lot of writing anymore. If I’m entirely honest, I don’t do any. I try, and try but as of lately, the words just don’t want to come out. They’re trapped inside of me like a house with no windows, no doors, and no way out. So, they scratch and claw and bite at the walls. Ripping off wallpaper, tearing up furniture, and smashing everything they can.
This is my reality now. The world that I live in, and the world that I can’t live without, where some things- no, most things are not as they seem.
This is the void that I’m going to scream into. Wildly at times. With no sense of self, or the world around me. This is the place that I’ll leave words when they come to me. The place where I’ll write about books and songs, music and movies, and things that I need to talk about.
Welcome to my void.
We’ll talk again soon.
-Sky
Leave a comment