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Abstract

y days of churning out Medium articles, checking my stats each morning and replying to readers’ comments.Gone too were my pleasant evenings planning out my novel in the workbook I got for my birthday. I couldn’t write a thing.I felt left out of the community of writers. What had been so fun for me before now became yet another area where I felt isolated, where my disability made me stand out.I desperately wanted to write again, but the mere sight of a blank page made me nauseous. Trying to read made me nauseous, too.Exactly what was I supposed to do all day if I couldn’t read or write?The Chilean poet Pablo Neruda once wrote,<blockquote id="02ed">“For me writing is like breathing. I could not live without breathing and I could not live without writing.”</blockquote>I feel the same way. If I can’t write, I have no reason to get up in the morning, no reason to smile.I decided at a very early age that my purpose in this life is to write. When I grew up, I couldn’t imagine what my life would look like, but I knew I would write lots of stories.After all these years, I’ve kept myself to that promise.

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Now, with a brain that felt like lead, I was reduced to playing Super Mario and napping all day. What if I could never write again? I would never again be able to take a full breath, never again be able to be “me.”I’ve had writer’s block before, though not to this awful extent, and have discovered that no matter how bleak it looks in the moment, the ability to create always comes back in the end.Two days ago, just like that, my brain cleared up and my writing prowess popped back into me, fully formed.Overjoyed, I set myself to writing some fun travel articles on Medium. Before I knew it, hours had passed, and I felt completely myself. I was part of the community again.No longer do I have to sit in my chair feeling disabled and completely alone.According to author Neil Gaiman,<blockquote id="7487">“Being a writer is a very peculiar sort of a job: it’s always you versus a blank sheet of paper (or a blank screen) and quite often the blank piece of paper wins.”</blockquote>The important thing is that we get back in the ring. If we keep fighting, the blank page may win one day, and another, and another, but we will win the next.</article></body>

WRITING

The Terror of Writer’s Block

Would I ever create again?

I sat in my recliner chair in my living room, like I’ve done every day for the past nine years, ever since the headaches started to stab my skull.

At all hours I have them, no matter what medication I try, no matter what type of doctor I go to.

But I’m not here to talk about the headaches. I’m here to talk about the loneliness, the isolation, the stripping away of all aspects of my identity: traveler, athlete, independent person, good daughter.

Everything except writer. I can still write.

Or at least I used be able to.

One of my new Bipolar disorder medications, Geodon, has been a disaster. Overnight, it deadened my mind, making my brain feel weighed down with lead.

Gone were my happy days of churning out Medium articles, checking my stats each morning and replying to readers’ comments.

Gone too were my pleasant evenings planning out my novel in the workbook I got for my birthday. I couldn’t write a thing.

I felt left out of the community of writers. What had been so fun for me before now became yet another area where I felt isolated, where my disability made me stand out.

I desperately wanted to write again, but the mere sight of a blank page made me nauseous. Trying to read made me nauseous, too.

Exactly what was I supposed to do all day if I couldn’t read or write?

The Chilean poet Pablo Neruda once wrote,

“For me writing is like breathing. I could not live without breathing and I could not live without writing.”

I feel the same way. If I can’t write, I have no reason to get up in the morning, no reason to smile.

I decided at a very early age that my purpose in this life is to write. When I grew up, I couldn’t imagine what my life would look like, but I knew I would write lots of stories.

After all these years, I’ve kept myself to that promise.

I’ve had writer’s block before, though not to this awful extent, and have discovered that no matter how bleak it looks in the moment, the ability to create always comes back in the end.

Two days ago, just like that, my brain cleared up and my writing prowess popped back into me, fully formed.

Overjoyed, I set myself to writing some fun travel articles on Medium. Before I knew it, hours had passed, and I felt completely myself. I was part of the community again.

No longer do I have to sit in my chair feeling disabled and completely alone.

According to author Neil Gaiman,

“Being a writer is a very peculiar sort of a job: it’s always you versus a blank sheet of paper (or a blank screen) and quite often the blank piece of paper wins.”

The important thing is that we get back in the ring. If we keep fighting, the blank page may win one day, and another, and another, but we will win the next.