curiosity
It’s a curious thing when I go to write and, suddenly, my mind goes silent. The background noise to my life suddenly goes mute, and I have no words to spill onto paper.
It’s a curious thing when therapists suggest to journal and write out your feelings when you’re anxious, depressed, or in a manic state — but nothing comes out. I tried to take up journaling one night in which my insomnia was at its peak and my depression and anxiety were tag teaming my mind. In the end, my hand hurt from writing on paper, I felt weird for essentially talking to myself, and my mind wasn’t any more at ease than before — I gave into my sleeping pills and haven’t touched that journal since.
It’s a curious thing when you start typing away on a blog site and suddenly become overwhelmed with emotion when writing about absolutely nothing, in the middle of a cafe. When suddenly you realize the conversations you’re overhearing will eventually fall victim to the generalization of human memory, and that moment will only be a glimpse into this person’s complex existence.
It’s a curious thing how being immersed in your words can lead to an enlightenment of your surroundings — leaving you vulnerable to your senses, incapable of explaining that exact moment.
It’s a curious thing when the frustrating writer’s block you’ve always complained about is actually your mind’s own defense mechanism — blocking your inner thoughts from becoming real.
It’s a curious thing when I go to write and, suddenly, my mind goes silent — and I am no longer frustrated by it.
-n.