The Voices In My Head

Thanks Pixabay.com

I spent a whole day this past week wondering why I bother. Why do I even think about writing? What's the use? What's the point? Who am I kidding, I stink. I'm terrible. I'm sick all the time. I don't write enough. I can't think. I have so much to do and can't get my act together.

I give up! I just quit. I'm not going to bother even trying. I can't do it anyway and my mind seems to have taken a permanent vacation. So, I should, too.

Yeah, I said that.

And was immediately miserable.

I don't write because someone makes me. Maybe if they did, I'd be more productive. I do it because I can't help it. Even when I feel awful, I try and write something. But it seems so little that I end up angry and frustrated with myself.

Every year I start a schedule but then something happens about 4 months in that totally derails me. Usually, my RA or Fibromyalgia flares and I'm knocked down. I keep writing but the momentum is gone and sometimes, even the energy. I become too ill to get anything done.

Today was one of those days. I went back to bed after I got Sarah to school and slept hard for two more hours. The rest of the day I lay in my recliner, still exhausted. I can't tell you what I did because I don't remember. I dozed off and on all afternoon. I think I read some. I think I went somewhere.. oh yeah, to lunch with Mike. Wow, totally forgot that. My back hurt, my hand hurt, and I was so tired when I got home, it was an effort to stay awake. So, I slept. Those types of days are frequent.

I beat myself up. I flay myself until I'm bleeding from every pore. Metaphorically, of course. I fall into a depression and despair of every producing another completed piece. I quit. At least once a year.

Then, I find something in a file that I wrote. And I'm shocked because I don't remember writing it and I wonder how I wrote such beautiful prose. Then, the voices in my head start talking about the story, pouring details so fast I can't keep up. I'm driven back to the keyboard to get it all down and repeat the process.

Maybe I'll finish something. Maybe I won't. That bothers me most. But I can't stop. I can't quit. I have no choice. The voices in my head won't let me quit. They may become overwhelmed by pain and despair but they refuse to remain silent for long.