I am having some trouble writing lately. The weight of the world is so heavy… Each word I write has a certain meaning to me, but altogether another meaning to those that read them. Who am I writing for? Me. I write for me. But, am I ready for any backlash that may occur because I write for me? These questions are constantly circling my mind as I sit down to write and the weight of it just buries me.
I try digging myself out of it, but the avalanche has unleashed an Everest of snow.
But I keep trying, so that’s something. I am proud of trying, upset that I am failing. The dichotomy of this does not escape me at all.