Well, here I am attempting to write a simple blog post, and I can't. It's hard to express how frustrating it is when writing becomes difficult. I should be able to write. I should always be capable of writing -- and writing well.
At times I can't focus well enough to write more than a couple of well-thought-out sentences at a time. This is useful for social media comments, but it doesn't fit with the long-form of blogging. I do switch to Facebook or Twitter as a better-suited outlet at times, and I enjoy them. Still, I eventually tire of the form and attempt to go back to what I prefer. Sometimes I can switch back at that point; sometimes, obviously, I cannot.
I should be able to write. I should always be capable of writing -- and writing well.
The personal nature of my writing here can be too much to handle when I'm otherwise stressed. Usually, the honesty is good and therapeutic, but sometimes, it just adds weight to an unbearable load. I end up looking for ways to be less visible, less vulnerable while simultaneously fighting against serious loneliness.
I know the signs. I know the triggers. I'm walking close to the edge of darkness. There are things I know to do when I'm standing here. Writing is one of those things. Knitting and drawing are also. I've called who I call and have sent the emails I know to send.
That's all I can do. This is my best for now.