Days since last poem written and published: 39
I am still unable to write. I just can’t. Physically and mentally, I cannot write. “But you’re writing now, you’re writing this blog post!” I hear you say. Yes, yes I am. And this is serious progress. A week ago, I was unable to even write a reply to a text message, or respond to an email. Even speaking has become difficult. I find that I am failing to find the words that I want, and I speak sentences that do not make sense. Sometimes, I do not respond at all, because it’s like there are no words left.
When I am feeling particularly creative, I can publish 5, 6, 7, 8 blog posts in one day. I am capable of churning out poems as if there is no tomorrow. I write features articles for various student magazines, newspapers and websites. I am constantly writing cover letters and supporting statements for job applications. I write journal entries, book reviews, even basic to-do lists. But I have not done any of these things for weeks. I just can’t. I don’t know why, or how, and please do not mistake my apparent inability for a defeatist or negative attitude. “There’s no such thing as ‘can’t'”… No, seriously, I can’t write. I want to write so much. Every day I sit at my desk with pen, paper and laptop, but the words don’t come. I have tried every tip available online for beating writer’s block. I have tried everything. For those of you who are unaware, I am a university finalist. I have a 6000 word essay to write, and a 72 hour exam in which I am required to write an essay. If I fail to write these papers, I will not graduate. I need to be able to write, ideally as of tomorrow (!) but alas, the universe has been working against me as of late.
The CPN is extremely concerned about my mental state. I am seeing Dr T (my psychiatrist) on Friday but I guarantee that he will not have a fucking clue what to do with me because he is useless. I know more about my illness than he does, without a shadow of a doubt. He can barely speak English which makes communicating and understanding very difficult. He will be of no help to me, of that I am certain. He will not break my writer’s block. Apparently, only I can stop this.
When this is over, this bout of numbness, this creative drought, I am going to do something amazing. I am going to make art again. I am going to write. I am going to write about everything that has happened in my life, in my brain, in my block of flats since 28th April. I am going to write about this writer’s block. I am going to write an experimental novel about my inability to write. I will write again. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, soon. And when I do, it is going to be incredible. It is going to be a cult fucking classic. You heard it here first.