Ghost

There's a ghost of the feelings I had back in January creeping through my body. I've been thrown back to the heartbreak and struggle today.

I hate it.

I keep thinking it'll get easier. That I'll learn to cope better or something. People always tell me to focus on the positive. Even though I try so, so hard to do that, the negative has a way of sneaking back in without me realizing it until it's too late.

I'm tired and burnt out. I know my body is being physically affected by all the emotional. I don't know when I became this beat up, stressed out girl who doesn't trust herself anymore. In high school, I took the bad in and then held my head up to face it head on. There was never a thought of "I can't do this." There were certainly thoughts of "I don't want to do this," but never "can't."

Now it seems my life is full of can'ts.

I don't trust myself anymore. Being by myself means my thoughts go wild and I start panicking. It's a scary feeling.

But worst of all is the loneliness. The constant feel of having no one. The loss of family. And the fact that my heart is still in a hotel room that felt more like home than anywhere in Utah ever has.

Blank

There are times when I open a new file and stare at the blank screen for ages. The need to write is there, my imagination is itching to produce something, but I can't think of a single thing. So I stare and I stare and then I stare some more.

It's quite possibly the most frustrating thing in my life.

I think of all the books I read and, yes, even the fanfiction stories I read, and I can't help but be disappointed. How many times have I read a story that affects me and stays with me forever, even after I've finished it? How many times have I cried or cheered or ached for fictional characters? Why can't I think of something like that? Those are the stories that inspire me, that comfort me, and make my life that much more interesting. Where has my creativity gone?

I've been listening to Billy Joel's "Piano Man" a lot lately, and I think I've finally figured out why. Here are all these bar patrons who have failed dreams, who can do more, but instead they are all gathered to drink in their lack of success. When I stare at that blank document, the fear that I could end up that way is never more real. This passion, this desire to do what I love could lead to complete failure, and that's the last thing I want to see happen. To inspire even one ounce of the emotion I feel when I read something great is what I really want to do.

So I continue to stare at the white screen and pray it will be covered in text soon.