it was almost poetic that the 100th post on my site was about writer’s block. more so because in this month, two years ago, i started this blog. a blog i started because i was struggling to write academically.
in february i registered for my phd. and like clock work i couldn’t write again. at first i blamed it on the depression that strikes me at the beginning of every year. the lack of inspiring ideas. and then the medication to cope with depression. in april i was put on the highest dose i have ever been on. and many days since then have felt oddly light, but nonetheless foggy.
i have made the resolution to stick to this course of treatment. every time i have been prescribed anti-depressants before i have stopped treatment abruptly, hating how numb it made me feel. i am determined to see this programme through though. i want to get better. i need to. but i am tired. and i cannot but feel, that at least without the medication, I am tired but alive.
laughter used to nestle in my stomach and ripple its way through my body
it has been months since i felt this.
love is discomforting
i cannot cry, i used to cry everyday. its awful but i miss the tears,
they were release,
i was alive.
now everything and everyone seems further away.
yes, i am calmer and less anxious.
but i struggle daily to feel.
and without feeling i cannot write.
it is not darkness, i have befriended darkness, and written within and out of it. no. this is fog. and she has rendered me unfeeling
100 should have been a spectacular moment, maybe joy, and maybe I would have cried as i wrote that piece and celebrated. but i was cold and mechanical as i scheduled: the block.