I've been wondering why or how I can possibly write something so beautiful one day and the next find myself with absolutely nothing to say. Sometimes it's almost as if I have given up on it all, and I realize that something is standing in the way. I don't really want to give it all up, not really. So what's the problem?
The door has shut on my last few chapters. I'm brave enough to admit this: I have writer's block, and I hate those two words together. Admitting this and typing it, making the realism of it come to life, is causing a burning deep inside my stomach. It's almost like the pain of a broken heart, a death of a loved one, salt in the coffee instead of sugar.
But I've had a great deal of pain in my now 24 years of life. I know how bad it hurts to admit something is wrong, to face it instead of shoving it someplace deep inside. Actually, that's what I've been doing. There is a fireproof, keypad entry box somewhere inside me that I've managed to shove everything into and now it's full. Opening this box is going to destroy me for a few days, especially when the Narcolepsy gets wind, but it must happen. This is now unavoidable.
So my brain has concluded, it's time to get out the Therapy Monsters notebook "we" created. No matter how difficult this will be, it has to happen. "We" wanted to follow Tracy's advice a couple months ago, really! "We" knew it would hurt so bad, so "we" only created it, and didn't follow her advice.
It's time... and I'm distracted by the Lion King in my head when they raise the next king over the crowd of animals... a happier memory from my childhood.