I recently changed my environment. Which means I started living somewhere completely different, with people completely different from what I am used to.
That’s not all. You see, for reasons I would rather save for later, I was forced to “throw myself out there”. You know, socialize, mingle and “act like the Romans” Which honestly has taken a lot more energy than I would’ve ever thought.
In hindsight I must not have thrown myself far enough because I have so far not done a great job.
But that’s not why we are here. So, why are we here?
The change of environment (and basically everything else) has affected me in more ways that I would have imagined. And one of the horrible side effects of my recent move has been an enormous and unflinching creative block.
As you may or may not know, I tend to write every now and then. There are not enough words for me to express how fulfilling storytelling is for me. But that not all I love to do, I love to design too. Over the course of my life I have dabbled in many forms of design; fashion, interior designs and much recently graphic design.
But recently, since my aforementioned move, I have become empty. I cant even muster the will. Things got so bad to the point of nausea and fever just at the thought of writing or designing.
Basically I have been floating through the days and doing everything to avoid facing my reality. The only good thing that has come out of my pretentious ways is that I have learnt that I make an awesome moi moi(please don’t ask)
Anyway, if you ever read my medium post here then you will know that in as much as I don’t think I am really any good at this writing thing, I have to do it anyway. I am(for lack of better words/explanation) compelled by the powers that be, and in the event that I ignore said powers for too long they start to haunt me.
In subtle yet persuasive ways. Nightmares are the most common, usually followed by a slight shift in reality. Forgetting which people were dreamed up and which people are actually real and from my past. Then there is the constant gnawing at the back of my head. The one where you can’t quite remember a thing but said thing won’t let you forget it either.
“What or who am I trying to remember and why can’t I just completely forget it then?” I hear me ask myself on many occasions.
It gets worse, the horrible mood swings, the constant soliloquy and the horrid insomnia. Do you see how limited my choices are; write or suffer
Sometimes when I start to write, I get comfortable and forget all the horrors associated with not writing and how unforgiving they are. So here we(I)are. I have made my choice, I don’t want to suffer. I just hope I don’t forget again.