Writer’s Block?

Things I would rather do than write.

“Clean” my studio/office/Man Cave
Wash dishes
Dust/vacuum the house
Exercise/bike ride/lift weights
Day dream
Play on Facebook
Nap
Eat
Drink
Grocery shop

Things that I could do rather than write that would be beneficial to my writing

Read
Meditate
Dream
Talk to friends
Read some more
Really set up a creative space for myself
Deal with my fears

Oh…

Deal with my fears…I just finished a coaching session when that phrase came up. And I gave voice to it not just for my client, but for myself as well. I have massive social anxiety (despite my seemingly overt extraversion) and I go though long periods where I do not wish to be seen. While I have talked about my traumas within some of the pieces for the essay challenge I hit a wall. Ergo the lateness of this installment and my reluctance to do any writing whatsoever about it. My fear of being seen is based on feeling that should someone really see me they would see a fraud, a fake, a bullshit artist.

Disclosing this now is not something new, I’ve done it before and I’ve started to do it with this essay challenge but it still felt unreal, incomplete, and not integral to my personhood. Just writing words is an easy thing to hide behind, even if I ‘d seem to be disclosing something that would make me feel truly vulnerable.

Why?

Good fucking question at this point. I know that if I pay attention I can see that I’ve done the work, not just professionally in therapy, but in my day to day dealings with significant others and myself. And realistically I know the work is ongoing, it doesn’t stop. But there are times I feel that it’s pointless. I don’t know if it’s despair or ennui or both.

I just feel like sitting still, alone, and quiet.

One of my (writer) friends has pointed out that at the end of our year of writing an essay a week we’d have fifty-two first drafts. I can’t help but think that I’m a first draft, incomplete and filled with grammatically formed incorrectness.. Maybe these spells are when I really self-edit. I dunno. I do know that my best shit comes out when I just open myself up to the thought or emotion I’m feeling at the moment (writing drunk?) and just let it flow.

Another of my (writer) friends actually called me a writer in one of her essays.

It frightened me…

Why?

Because there are too many times when I’ve read something I’ve written that prompts an almost out of body experience for me. I have a hard time believing I’ve written it, I wonder where the fuck it came from. Another (writer) friend of mine, in a Facebook post put it succinctly, “I speak one way, and I think and write, in another dimension.” (Thank you Terry Becerril) Being in that ‘dimension’ is like a drug, sometimes it’s absolutely thrilling and sometimes it’s absolutely frightening! I am truly afraid of being addicted to that feeling and what it can produce. But I see that it produces something very worthwhile and I wonder if this is the dance writers, artists are damned to dance.

And what more is there? What do I have to be honest about in uncovering myself further? What lies do I still tell myself? What lies would I tell you?

I don’t know, but what I do know is that when any potential answers come up…no, wait, when the hard questions come up I’ll not run from them, the bits and pieces of inspiration constantly flow. I’ve been either fearful or too lazy to dig for what they would lead me to discover/uncover about myself or my vision of the world. I’ll continue to do the work so that the fears I harbor don’t distort that vision. If I can recognize any biases then I can either dive into them to see what, if any use they may have or, alternatively step away from them.

What I do know right now, at this moment is that I don’t want to leave any potential I may have unused. I don’t want to waste anything of myself. As much as it may frighten me at any moment, I want to be seen.

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