this may be completely incoherent and somewhat selfish, however I feel the need to get this out.
the world is a different place to when I first started writing.
what I feel contributes most to my lack of want to write, is witnessing the world around us change in deeply concerning ways and feeling as though there is quite literally nothing we can do but watch.
I feel cynical. I feel disheartened and utterly disturbed. untrusting of methods of support where CEOs of charities and systems portrayed to help those in need are buying private jets and living lives of luxury. I feel cynical when politicians are grandstanding and lying to our faces. and the brutal truth is no matter how much we educate ourselves, none of us can truly understand it. none of us in situations with roofs over our heads, food on our tables, or the luxury of laying in bed at night and feeling safe can begin to fathom.
we cannot begin to accurately describe or even attempt to truly understand what suffering is happening across our planet right now. we live in a sea of privilege where not being able to overcome writers block for our secret tumblr page is an issue we have time to consider.
attempting to educate myself and understand what is happening leaves me with a pit in my stomach, because I feel so useless. this world is plagued by vicious men in power who prey on those they consider “beneath” them and seem to want nothing more than to destroy any hope and faith humanity has left.
I am utterly terrified and disturbed by the state of the environment around us, and the suffering of those less privileged than myself. the feeling of helplessness is overwhelming and it brings a guilt and deep waves of selfishness for me to even write these words, while trying to consider the pain and suffering of those who would do anything for the luxury of not being able to write a few words on tumblr.
the fact is, writing feels so pointless to me lately. and outside of the fact I fear for the state of our world and the future of what all of this means for us, we somehow have to manage our own daily lives while witnessing the burning down of our humanity.
so I ask myself, why would anyone want to read what I’m writing? what benefit does this bring? who am I helping? does anyone even care? does anyone actually even read these? do I want to start writing again? will it bring me joy or release in the same way it used to? do I deserve that relief?
maybe at some stage I will try and get there, and to those who have sent me requests please don’t feel ignored. the fact there are people out there who actually and me these requests and want me to write for them is the biggest compliment I could ever receive and helps weaken the walls of this solid block I feel when I consider the idea of picking back up my work again. I hear you, I see you and I hope to be able to get to a place where I feel I can finally just start typing away
if you’re reading this, I appreciate you deeply. I wish I had some idea of what any of this means or how we can help in some way, but I truly don’t have the answers
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