Dear writer’s block,
It seems we’ve come to meet again. I’m not exactly sure what days you like to spring up and ruin my life, but truly, and I say this as a compliment, you really do have a knack at presenting yourself at exactly the wrong time every time. Like this week. Or that one time I had an essay to write and thought I had more ideas than I guess I actually did. Looking back on it now, you probably just stole them from me on your arrival—as if my ideas are gifts that are waiting for you.
I do not know when you arrive or when you leave, and it feels like you never present yourself, but sneakily slide into my mind when I’m not even thinking to do work, so when I finally do sit down to write, only then do I realize the damage you have done. How do you leave me not even one idea? Am I being too demanding in expecting my own brain to protect them? Does not having any original ideas of your own really push you to steal from others?
I try to distract myself from you once I’ve realized the toll you have taken on my creative ability, but you and I both know that once you arrive, everything planned and seemingly set in stone turns to a “perhaps.” Perhaps I’ll be able to push through and painfully squeeze every word and letter I can from my brain to just pass a class…or perhaps I won’t and will accept whatever grade I get, promising to myself that I will do twice as good the next time.
Listen. This is embarrassing for both of us. I’m not usually this much of a bully, but sometimes enough is enough. And I’ve had enough. So, I have decided to write you a formal letter pleading with you to no longer visit me. I am trying my best to do my best, and you have no right to throw a wrench in my plans the way you do. It’s unfair. And maybe it’s ironic that I’m talking to you about fairness when all things considered, you have never known an idea because of what you are, and I am sorry for that, but I do not deserve to pay for your insecurities.
To project your emptiness on someone else is a different kind of crime against humanity, and you, you are every writer’s nightmare. Your sly way of appearing and creating panic in people who really know how to panic well is a sick thing to do, and I have never once appreciated your existence. I’ve been trying to stay on this path of wellness and positivity, and honestly, you are one of the biggest things holding me back. I feel like my mind is an empty vacuum. So, I wish to no longer experience you.
If you miss me that badly, we can meet at the cafe where I like to write for myself at in a couple of years. When I’m out of college and hopefully have more free time. Yes, this is a breakup. I have tried and tried to find at least one good thing about you and have failed every time. You’re like poison, infecting a bunch of different parts of me the minute you decide to take away things that I have thought about.
Good-bye for as long as you can stay away from me, I guess. Even after all of this, knowing you’ll probably show up tomorrow or even later today just to spite me makes my blood boil. In any case, I cut myself of all ties to you, and steps will be taken in my daily life to try and keep you from me, like regularly writing in a journal all of the things I hope to remember and/or write about. Thanks for nothing but heartache. You have taught me to appreciate my ideas no matter how big or small, and for that, I will always be thankful. I hope you learn to accept your fate and that you do not keep punishing others for your shortcomings. Stay away from me, and perhaps I’ll even cheer for you from a distance.
Thanks for nothing,
A girl suffering from writer’s block in a pandemic