(no subject)

[postitnotes]

I told myself I would start writing more because keeping my emotions pent up wasn't doing me any good, and I wasn't putting myself in a position where I would be satisfied with who I am. For the past two, three years, I haven't felt myself at all. I think back to the type of person I was in high school, and I honestly realize that I can't find myself again and I don't even remember what that felt like to me. Isn't that sad -- I can't remember who I was, just that I felt good about myself back then. I felt like I honestly belonged.

I find myself having problems getting started on the writing again. I'll just stare and stare at the document, or entry page and hours will pass before I'm motivated enough to write, that is if I honestly do choose to write. More often than not, I'll exit out and keep my thoughts concealed, consistently swirling around and dragging me down into the depths once again.

I wonder if this reflects on my reading, but I don't think the two necessarily correlate. I found myself having trouble looking for books that interested me well before my fall from grace, but I hope that I can immerse myself once again in order to seek the comforting solitude I have yet to experience again.

I looked around today for books, but I realized the best book I wanted to read was one I had yet to write. I suppose I should try to write it, but the prospect of putting together something when I lack the ability to write and express myself altogether... it's just never going to happen.

I want to be able to move past him, but something keeps holding me back. I can't tell him the truth, how I feel, and whatnot.

And now I find myself giving up on writing, but that's what happens when I stop to just lie down and stare up at the ceiling.