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Well, how do I feel now?

Do I have all the same pent up anxiety and ‘depression’?

What is there for me to draw inspiration from?

…I feel happy.

Thats right… happy. I wake up happy, go to work happy, spend my free time feeling happy and fall asleep happy. Of course feeling perfect all the time would be an 

overstatement but overall…

I’m happy.

I found an escape. I found the courage (the rope) and was able to pull myself away from that toxic and god-awful relationship I was in. I found the love of my life (for real this time). Falling in love with her really has saved me from all the self loathing I had felt throughout my teenage and early adult years. It’s allowed me to improve myself. I’ve learnt to live with someone else, make compromises and just become a better human being. I’m not perfect, but I’m getting there. Theres a hole in my soul that has finally been filled.

After meeting her, I’ve been able to achieve:

• living together with someone in harmony
• the courage to get married
• a child (my beautiful baby girl)

… and just feel radiant. All this and I’m not even thirty years old yet.

Its been perfect

except… I’ve not been able to write.

I’ve found it so hard to draw inspiration from happiness. I feel motivated and have the desire to write yet… I can’t find any words. I can’t form a picture in my head. Even when I have tried to write, nothing particularly poetic comes out.

I’ve discovered that writing has always just been an escape. Whenever I felt down or I feel miserable, full of lust and desperation, I’ve always been able to draw from those emotions and turn them into words. That’s how it has always started. However, these feelings have been become more and more distant. If I think back, I can recall and remember these emotions- I just can’t turn them into inspiration.

I’ve considered purposefully going down a dark path- to try and create new dark and festering feelings that I can force into inspiration. Thinking about it now makes me almost snigger. It’s ridiculous. That would have been such a destructive path that could ultimately ruin all I have created for myself. It would be like landing on a fuck-off massive snake right near the finish tile in a game of ‘Snakes and Ladders’- a long and dark, smelly snake leading me back to square one (or there about).

Instead I needed to remap my brain. Hold onto the motivation I still have (in buckets) and rework my mind. If I can do so, I’d be able to find that inspiration from somewhere else. I know deep down that once I’ve found that initial tiny initial piece, I can run with it. I can mold it and evolve it- multiply it and harness the ability I desire, and just write.

Recently I finally feel like I’ve discovered that small piece.

It feels good.

I hope there’s a lot more to come.

Lots of love xxx