What The Doctor Might Say I’ve Got

I've been with my thoughts a lot lately, but when I try to write I'm always unsuccessful that sometimes I give up before finding a pen. I don't find the words, right or wrong, I don't find them.

I diagnose myself and claim to be suffering from a severe issue of writer's block, because I read, yet don't see words, I listen to music yet can't find my voice, I take walks and yet nothing seems clear.

I often randomly find that my heart is heavy and my eyes teary, and when no one is in the room I let out a sob which multiplies sooner than I could stop myself.

Then I spend the day ticktoking and watching movies, and when the thought of writing occurs to me, I become blank again and take solace in The Tale of Genji, Rainbow Six, Adulthood or any of the poetry books I used to read for fun, but now for inspiration.

In my drive for solitude in a world that isn't mine, I have seen think pieces, describing my recent whirl of emotions as depression, but I think them wrong, cos for the first time since I began my journey as an adult who things do not always work in her favour, I am yet to contemplate the idea of ending it all and giving the worms of the soil an early feast.

Isn't that how depression works?

Or am I just in self-denial because the fact that I am lonely with a lot of hurt is a term I'm learning to adapt to and like maths, I always miss a step and end up frustrated with a wrong answer, so I hate the process but never say that, instead claim to be a dyscalculia.

Or maybe I'm alright and just need forget all that's causing me to hurt so much.

But where does one begin to forget pain? Especially when they know not where it hurts or why it hurts.

My mind suggests the series of lost relationship I've endured in the first quarter of the year, but I doubt it is right, because I already shed tears for those moments long ago.

Then it suggests my current stagnation in life, and I'm tempted to agree with it, but I wouldn't exactly describe my situation as stagnant, given that I am quite following through with my plans, though the universe has presented me with a plot twist not so far ago.

Do you see that? I am as vague as can be, even when I write here, as if scared I might be caught expressing myself and made to serve time or some other hideous penence.

Well, I might as well not say a thing if I'd have to hold back on the juice, yeah?

It's the way I deal with my friends these days. I do not see the point in talking since I won't be saying anything in the end, and I guess to that I give good credit for my loneliness.

And perhaps that's the disease I suffer. Loneliness.

Sadly not from the lack of people, but from the lack of will to try and connect, to trust and to find my words.