Atrophy
It was somewhere in 2015 I think, a hammer to the fingers, a snip of the tongue, a slap across the face, a stab through the gut.
Atrophy is a strange thing. I used to be able to flow, just let my ideas fly and enjoy the process of letting them out. Something struck me. I’m sure. Something must’ve done it because I never recovered after that.
Creativity was always such an important part of life for me. I used to fill notebooks. Plenty of times I would write about how thinking and doing came together, about how it wasn’t enough to be erudite or think a lot, it was also important to do things, to exercise that creativity, to be poietic and make something in the world. Something real. Something that can be shared.
I share very little with the world. I’m in a sort of stasis. Maybe since 2015. Yes I think it must’ve been.
It’s like I have been slowly forgetting. Every time I need to be creative it becomes harder than the last. I despair more.
I used to write plenty of short stories, now I can’t get one started. I used to draw, and it seems increasingly impossible to me to pick up the pen now. I would make up games, create silly videos, interpret characters, tell stories.
Every time I run a TRPG game now I feel dread. I fear I'm gonna run out of juice and I can feel it drain out of me through the sessions. By the end I'm running on fumes, begging inspiration to strike and hoping I can bring some excitement into the table, but secretly wanting it to be over so I can rest and stop coming up with shit. I miss that spontaneity of coming up with something cool and running with it.
I cut my wings every time. With a saw.
I want to be a maker again, a doer. I want to share things with the world. But I fear I have nothing to share left.
I just hope I can rediscover that ability within myself.