It comes at night while you're waiting

A good writer should be smart enough to know why their writing is suffering. I, unfortunately, am not that smart.

To say that I have been stressed out lately would be putting things mildly. Really fucking stressed. Now that is more like it; even though I am am aware of how piss poor that sounds.

I spent the better part of the last four years working on a book that isn't going to see the light of day any time soon. For some people, that would be enough to give up. When the book you wrote was your life story, you tend to take the experience harder. It is almost as if your life has meant nothing, and all those people who questioned why your life was so special were proven right.

I know that I am suffering right now and that my mind is in a bad place. I used to be able to write full sentences and be able to give everything a considerable amount of thought. These days I just feel numb and I I don't give a shit about my own writing. I can still proofread something a friend has written and point out every flaw, but I can't be bothered to even reread this sentence.

By nature, I am bipolar. The ups and downs are nothing new to me. What I can't stand is the general apathy I feel right now. I am stuck in a place where I have little to no stimulation and I only have myself to blame. There is nothing I can really be mad about these days except for myself and petty setbacks that a normal person could easily shake off, but would manage to throw off my entire day.

The purpose of this blog, as well as my other, happier blog ("Because you want to") is to get back on my feet and get me back to the point I was at before I lost my train of thought. This is the darker blog, as you can see. In this blog things will be a bit more personal and serious. If something is bothering me, you can find it here. This will also be the place to find me writing about serious issues rather than pop culture.

That's all. Sadly, even writing that took a lot out of me.