Snapshots of a Modest Life

Shrug

I keep wanting to write. I do, I really do. So I start. One sentence. Two sentences. Then I stop. It doesn't feel right. I don't know why. So I reword them. They still don't feel right. So I quit.

I wonder why. There have been several times in the last month that I sat down, my computer cradled in my lap, trying to write. But I never can. I could tell you what's going on in my life, but it seems to boring. I'm bored with it, why would anyone else care?

I can't write about what I'm feeling. That hurts too much. It's scary. It would solidifying everything that I would rather ignore. I'd have to see it every time I open my internet browser. There is pain in my heart. Sometimes it's even tangible; a dull ache, or pressure, like someone's got their hand on my chest. Don't go forward. No. You can't. Take a step back. You don't belong here. So I take a step back. I can't go there. I don't even know where there is. That hand stops me.

I'm getting frustrated. I'm tired of not understanding what I'm going through. My life isn't calculus! I should be able to understand. Why can't I understand? Why can't I go on? What is wrong with me that I'm not allowed to get past this? I don't even know where "there" is.