I have missed Writing.
I think it can be safely said that I have developed a fear of writing. It is after quite some time that I have been able to bring myself to commit words to paper, or the blogspace.
I have a fear of writing. Maybe it stems from the lack of lucidity in thoughts that I have been experiencing lately. Also from my inability to focus on a task completion without getting distracted.
Just yesterday I distinctly felt my mind leaning towards a sexist sitcom series that I don't even like very much over the opportunity to watch something that I have never watched before. I think its likely that today too I may go home to binge-watch this series to its end. I know there's no point in that. Its not even the great. Its just the comfort of the familiarity of the characters that makes me go back to it.
Speaking of there being no point, that pretty much sums up my feelings towards anything of late. I'd rather sit curled up in my bed and read, or watch. I remember earlier too, many years ago I had felt this way. And only recently realized that I perhaps was depressed during that time. I often find myself wondering these days if perhaps this too is the same. And I will have an offset remembering this too.
The only good thing about my life right now, is that I am financially independent. But my job doesn't make me happy. This financial independence is paramount for me because everything revolves around that. And that in turn perhaps revolves around the centre of my sadness. I am aware that I have to make lemonades from lemons. I have always loved lemonades. Made a lot of it even when I didn't know that they were called so. I am just unable to do it these days. I have had trouble with keeping at things that make me better. And somewhere I am dangerously self-antagonistic. A lot of this stems from the sense of isolation and ridicule that I have distinct memories of having experienced as a child. Now my equation with my parents have bettered considerably. Bettered even beyond what I perhaps thought was possible. Then why haven't these things gotten better? Is is because I'm still reliving that sense of neglect and being unloved even now through my relationship?
I think it can be safely said that I have developed a fear of writing. It is after quite some time that I have been able to bring myself to commit words to paper, or the blogspace.
I have a fear of writing. Maybe it stems from the lack of lucidity in thoughts that I have been experiencing lately. Also from my inability to focus on a task completion without getting distracted.
Just yesterday I distinctly felt my mind leaning towards a sexist sitcom series that I don't even like very much over the opportunity to watch something that I have never watched before. I think its likely that today too I may go home to binge-watch this series to its end. I know there's no point in that. Its not even the great. Its just the comfort of the familiarity of the characters that makes me go back to it.
Speaking of there being no point, that pretty much sums up my feelings towards anything of late. I'd rather sit curled up in my bed and read, or watch. I remember earlier too, many years ago I had felt this way. And only recently realized that I perhaps was depressed during that time. I often find myself wondering these days if perhaps this too is the same. And I will have an offset remembering this too.
The only good thing about my life right now, is that I am financially independent. But my job doesn't make me happy. This financial independence is paramount for me because everything revolves around that. And that in turn perhaps revolves around the centre of my sadness. I am aware that I have to make lemonades from lemons. I have always loved lemonades. Made a lot of it even when I didn't know that they were called so. I am just unable to do it these days. I have had trouble with keeping at things that make me better. And somewhere I am dangerously self-antagonistic. A lot of this stems from the sense of isolation and ridicule that I have distinct memories of having experienced as a child. Now my equation with my parents have bettered considerably. Bettered even beyond what I perhaps thought was possible. Then why haven't these things gotten better? Is is because I'm still reliving that sense of neglect and being unloved even now through my relationship?
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