I don't know


If this was a Youtube video, it would be one of those unedited 20-minute long talk-only vlogs, shot in a dimly lit room with lots of lost silences. Imagine the silences.

Last Sunday I didn’t post a Week in Words. Partly because I was busy (I had to go to the Apple store and that visit took all the energy I had), and partly because I felt I had nothing to say.

According to my mum, when I was a child it was impossible to shut me up. I was a storyteller before I could write, and a writer as soon as I (kind of) could. I was an artist, illustrating my stories and drawing comics. By the age of eleven I designed my first website (it had frames), and a few years later I had my own blog. Not much of it was good, but I never ran out of things to say. Not like I do now.

What happened? My teens. Mental illness. Physical illness. Bad medication. Useless therapists. For two years I could barely finish a sentence, and when I got better, I had nothing more to say. It was like something dark and enormous had lived inside my head for a few years and left only broken glass, a stale smell and withered plants. Everything was chaos.

I’ve spent the last ten years trying to figure out what I lost back then, who I am without it, and how to get some of it back. Parts of these years were great; other parts were a real shitshow.

These days I’m much better, physically and emotionally. But I’m still lost for words. Every time I try and start something remotely creative, I disappoint myself. I lack the talent, the imagination, the discipline, the drive ... I don’t know. The past ten years have been so, so hard, and lonely, and there’s still so much to do. Some days everything is too heavy, and on those days I just want to lie down and rest. But on the days I do feel good (and there are, finally, so many more of those), I just want my fucking rewards already.

I want to stop having to try so goddamn hard. I want to stop feeling so alone. I want to take a break from trying 24/7 to be better and better and just be, for a little while. But that seems impossible, because I still don’t know who or what to be, despite feeling so close to ... what? That magical breakthrough that will make things slide into place. That oasis in the desert you keep walking towards, without ever getting closer.

I have a lot to be grateful for. I just get tired. I’m tired this week. Of all that running in circles and starting and stopping and trying out a million things in the hopes that one or several of them will help make me feel more like myself.

I don’t know.