I Can’t Stop Writing

But I am secretly afraid I will.

I don’t know how people who write take writing breaks. I can’t.

I tried it recently — in fact, during New Year’s holidays — and I failed.

I am an addict. I am addicted to jotting down my thoughts and coming up with new book/post ideas.

My psychologist would have said that I have OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder), but who cares? I don’t want to cure it because if I do — I’ll stop writing.

And I want never to stop.

I don’t generate writing ideas

They don’t need my help. They just come. By themselves.

I would walk on the street, look around, observe the building rooftops, watch a pigeon take a crap, when suddenly — I would hear a voice.

It would be my voice. Or at least sound like it (although sexier). And it would say something like, “I don’t know how people who write take writing breaks” — which is the first sentence of this post.

By the way, that’s how I write all of my best posts. I get help from that voice — I hear the first sentence, and I write it down. The following sentences are just functions of the first one.

Sometimes I would hear a headline. Sometimes a subtitle. Sometimes sentence #67.

But I am not the one to take the credit — the “voice” is.

I want to write more

At this stage of my life, I spend a lot of my waking hours writing.

But I still wake up way too late for someone who writes well in the mornings — and I secretly blame myself for that.

I want to wake up earlier. I want to write more.

I write because I can’t NOT to.

I write because I feel like a hose filled with water that can’t come out. My brain wants to pee badly, and writing is like going for a leak after a long flight that had “Seat Belts” sign on the whole time.

Pure bliss.

I write because I believe that there are few things in life more immortal than words. Words are indestructible. Think about it: my kids will be able to read this Medium post. Hey, kiddo.

I write and teach others through my writing because that’s how I learn. If I didn’t write, I would have been dumber.

I write because it helps me ease the tension. It helps me fight anxiety. It helps me relax. I meditate on typing.

The truth is, I am useless for anything else. I can’t follow the rules. I don’t like working with other people. I love solitude and comfort of words (especially those full of wisdom). I hope to write such words myself one day.

I write because what I want my legacy to be — what I want to leave in this world — is a child (or two) and a shelf of books.

I am secretly afraid that I’ll run out of things to write about

When I pressured myself to stop writing and “take a break for once, you idiot!” — I became afraid. My anxiety levels went up. I felt worthless. Stupid. Empty. And I wanted to go back to my old habits of drinking, smoking and, oh yes, spend money I don’t have.

If I am honest, I was afraid that when I sat down to write after the break — I wouldn’t be able to. I was scared to lose momentum. To stop. To freeze. To prevent hearing that “voice.”

There are young actors who will never play a good role again. They’ve had their time; now they’re done (“Home Alone?”). There are singers who’re done. There are poets, writers, and other creatives — who burned through their talent quickly, and now they need to do something else.

I can’t imagine how difficult it might be for them. I am afraid something like that might happen to me.

I didn’t write for three days. Then I couldn’t take it any longer — my brain desperately had to pee — so I started writing again.

Writing breaks are for non-writers. Or maybe, they’re for pro writers. I’ll have to think about that a bit more.

I get my best ideas to come when I read.

Maybe — just maybe — if I woke up earlier and started my day off with reading somebody else’s work, that would enhance my writing.

I am a very structured guy, so I know it’ll work.

Maybe I would write better.

Maybe that way, I’ll never run out of ideas.

Is that even possible?

This was a stream of consciousness. Thanks for reading.