Writing is a release for me. It is one of the few ways I have found that allows me to sort of refresh my mind. It gives me the space I need to breathe in between all of the many and various thoughts and feelings that I have. It gives me a chance to process or to sort of bookmark them for later. When I have writer’s block it is like dead air. It is like turning on the television only to get static. It is agony!
Normally when I want to write I open up a blank document and just start typing. It has shocked many, but I don’t usually have a post or topic in mind. My mind and fingers are often connected on a level that my ego or sense of self can’t touch. I love this, but when it halts I panic. It was a true test of patience and self-care when my writer’s block lasted a record breaking (for me) month. To top it off I was revisited by my old friend insomnia (who now seems to just pop-in like that weird friend or aunt, unannounced) for most of that time. Many asked what changed in my life at that time or what happened to suddenly be so blocked and sleepless. Nothing, that is the truth, nothing changed or happened. The block is all that happened.
And so I struggle to keep the writing rhythm going even when I have very little to share about myself or when I have far too much. Ha-ha! I even write down my inner most thoughts and desires and hopes and failures. I save these little drafts and occasionally re-read them when I’m in a different state of mind. I find that it keeps the flow going and separates my blog writing style from my stream of consciousness way of writing. It is healthy, I think.
I was just re-reading one of these drafts that I wrote about a week or so ago and I was shocked by my own words. I was startled by my pure vulnerability and the way I expressed it. Only my eyes will see this writing, but often I don’t pay attention and have just learned to write it out and read only when done if even then. It’s sort of an emotional vomiting in a way, but again I think it’s healthy. I need to get this shit out, even if I find the words to be difficult to read later.
Let’s face it, there are some things we can only admit to ourselves and some we cannot even manage that. Those dark moments where your voice would echo even in a noisy arena. Where speaking such things would pierce through the realities we live and work in. I didn’t think I had such things in me anymore. “Queen of TMI” and all of that…but there is still some stuff in there I guess I was pretending not to see. Funny that.
I still have moments where I question if I even have a voice in this movement, in this ‘sphere if you will. I question the validity of this blog and my own intent and motives with it. My writing isn’t always fat related, even. In the end it is just my tiny little corner where only a select few choose to wander into. I’m grateful for their willingness to listen and to share their thoughts, too. I would love to support new bloggers, writers and fatshionistas. I would love to have guest posts and feature people’s things and such.
For now I will keep on keepin’ on because that is all I know to do. If the block returns, so be it. If it stays away, I will be all the happier for it.