I posted this as part of the Just Jot It January (see LindaGHill @ Life in Progress ) and it fits well with my journaling. Close to tears a lot today. Frustrating, painful day. Want to write, I mean really write – go back to the long stuff or work on unfinished pieces, but can’t find the words – like the pain that eats my jaw is eating into my brain. I so wanted to feel that I was a writer, maybe someday get a novelette published, or a collection of my heroine tales published. But my writing doesn’t compare favorably to those whose work has been published or who have won short story contests, or have their work in anthologies. I read that I feel like just giving up. Why bother. Writing was a lifeline, yes, but I harboured a small hope (oh, I might say on my blog novelette, but I never let on how much this meant and was keeping me going) too. But that hope, like all my hopes, is gone. Crushed. Destroyed. Gut-kicked. So what is the point to writing? There is none. My life is so hollow and empty, I have nothing else to do. And now I don’t feel I even can do that. Can’t write as a life line so why write at all.
jusjojan: warning 03.01.17
warning – a very depressed person is blogging.
warning – a very depressed person is posting dreck.
warning – a very depressed person cries when she reads how well others write.
warning – a very depressed person is trying to figure out how to survive without writing.
warning – a very depressed person doesn’t feel like/can’t writing/write but is addicted to prompts and posting.
warning – a very depressed person might just jot january again.