… write something, finish something, but I am just unable to. I have tried and tried. It makes me so unhappy. Angry. Frustrated.
I have a huge backlog of posts I’ve started – on issues that are really important to me – but I just can’t focus or concentrate enough to coalesce them into finished posts. It’s like mental torture. It’s like … the final piece of the puzzle won’t fit into place.
And, the more I can’t finish posts, the more the dates (like Stoptober, like World Mental Health Day on 10th October, like anticipating Halloween) pass and the potential posts become outdated and irrelevant. My contribution to debates I really care about fades away to nothing. I contribute … nothing, other than what fleetingly passes on twitter.
The more I can’t finish the posts (or sometimes even get them started), the more the ideas – poured out with passion on twitter – fall back into the fog: if I don’t write them up that day (or very soon after), they’re gone. Apart from Storify stories. There are so many Storify stories saved that I want to turn into blog posts.
The truth is, I’m really not doing so well at the moment. I’ve been really struggling for months. I had dodgy patches in April and the again in June, and today it’s really hit me that this is another dodgy patch too. I’m really not doing so well at the moment and all I can do, most days, is focus on getting to the end of the day. I don’t write much about me and that’s often because I’m really struggling. Now is one of those times.
I wish that, even though everything else seems to be going down the tubes, at least I could write. Sometimes I’d look back over posts and think, “Ooh, did I write that? It’s not bad. It might even be good!” That satisfaction, that achievement, is denied me at present. I wish I could …
I’m just going to post this now and put my frustration out there. It’s like torture.