Do you ever have the itches in your fingers to just write something, anything? The feeling that there are words just bursting under the surface but they don’t seem to want to come together. I worry that if I open the floodgates that it will result in a jumbled mess.Writing has always been a kind of therapy for me. I have journals filled with scribbles, an emptying of my mind. However the last 12 months there has been some kind of block there. I don’t know if it’s anxiety that is stopping me or if it’s a lack of motivation. I don’t know if I am scared to write or too tired to make the effort.
I worry that there is only so much people can read about mental health and how shitty it is to live with a mental illness. Maybe people are sick of reading about it, about me. Is it a fear of rejection that is stopping the words before they can make it onto the page? Or is it a fear that if I lay myself out on the page that people won’t like what they see?
A few years ago the writing stopped because of the medication that I was on. The medication dulled my senses and it didn’t matter how much I forced it, the words wouldn’t come. My creativity was stunted and it was the worst feeling in the world. My writing was the only thing I liked about myself. If I couldn’t do that, then who was I?
There are times when I worry that my writing is a form of self harm. I worry that I lay myself out on the page so that I can be rejected. I push and push until the words become a self fulfilling prophecy. I tell myself empty platitudes, if they really liked me they wouldn’t be scared away. Deep down I know that everyone has their breaking point.
I see the reactions from people who find out that I have Borderline Personality Disorder. I react to their disbelief that I am in a long term relationship, that I also have friends. Yet I also know my patterns, I know that I push people away.
My emotions are hot and cold. I can switch someone off just as quickly as I fell in love with them. Mr 6 has taught me that it is possible to love someone and not always like what they do. I know that I am lucky, that I have worked hard to come to that point. I also know that I have to keep working hard because this isn’t something that goes away for me.
This started as a post about nothing. I let the words go where they wanted to. I let them tell the story. It felt good to let go and follow the path of my thoughts. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted from my mind. The words are pushing at my skin anymore.