I know this isn't really the place to write this since it's not a polished piece I want to publish, but oh well, I need to. I need to talk to something, to someone. And here's to hoping that someone and no one reads this.
I've been dealing with serious anxiety for the last two and a half years, but the last few months it has gotten worse. I'm unable to write the way I want to write. I want everything to be just the way I envision it in my head, but because the way I see it in my head is different to the final product, it discourages me from moving further in my work.
I'm supposed to have written an essay here for this month, but yet, here I am, without a word written down. My biggest downfall is that I over-analyse everything, leading to analysis-paralysis. I find it hard to breathe.
I'm not working as hard as I want to and it's pissing me off. There are days (many days) where I just do nothing. Like yesterday, all I mostly did was lie in my bed scrolling through Twitter, like I had no purpose in life.
I'm just highly, intensely, desperately, deeply, absolutely depressed. I want to write. I want to be creative. I want to be consistent. I want to be producing everyday but I'm fighting a battle stronger than myself. And I do pray to Jesus, often reluctantly, because I'm sad and alone.
My higher purpose is to serve by creating, but I'm not doing that. And it's making me pissed off everyday at myself. I have been shrouded by fear. Overwhelming, tyrant-like fear has swept me up my feet and swaddles me like a baby. I can't move my arms and legs. I don't feel worthy enough to act.
I'm scared of everything and everyone. Everything feels wrong. No one knows what is right.