the archives

.a small confession.

I spend a lot of my time wishing I was more creative. Or. Well.  Wishing I could express my latent creativity with more ease.

I see pictures in my mind and I can’t get them to form on paper. I draw stick people and my handwriting is crap.

I create songs without words, but cannot translate them to instruments. I feel emotions that want to come out through my voice box, but all you might hear is a whimper, as I realize that I have very few skills. There are prodigies and geniuses out there. I’m not one of them. I’m smart and I have some small talent, but it’s nothing that comes easy.

And then I think maybe this would be different if only I had more discipline. If I could commit to creativity in some form every day. If I actually worked at my craft, and didn’t let it atrophy as I wallow in depression.

I need something to save me from myself, and I have a horrible sinking feeling that that thing…is me.

Archival Kat

4 responses to “.a small confession.”

  1. Honestly, being creative was the only thing that got me consistently through my depressions. If I didn’t write, then I was more stifled than I was before. The same with reading. If something word-related didn’t happen, then I cut. End of story.

    Is this a Muse problem or a blockage issue?

    • I’m not sure. Maybe a combination, plus a lack of energy or time. = I’m trying to set aside time specifically for writing, but it’s very difficult for me to do.