I Can't Write!

  It's official.  I can't write.  No, I don't mean I am a bad writer (although, I'm pretty sure I am), I only mean I have nothing left inside of me.  I've never claimed to be a professional, just an amateur whose only outlet for pain has always been pen to paper; or fingers to keyboard.

I go to bed at night with a billion topics, no, not literally, and come the next morning, I can't remember anything that was swirling around in my little brain.  Yes, I have thought of keeping a tablet handy, but when I am falling asleep, I really don't want to jump awake to write crap down.  Call me crazy, but in that threshold between half-asleep/half-awake, I'd rather drift off. 

Once the sun rises and a new day begins, I am empty.  The toddler is now in daycare, so I have tons of free time to write at leisure, but the gas tank is on fumes.  It's not writer's block, for I am no writer.  Am I pain-free?  No, that can't possibly be it, for I face the same issues that I have faced since my teen years, just new ones added.  Have I lost the ability to draw on that pain?  Possibly.  It's more likely that I am maturing (ick) and don't feel the need to share my every thought any longer. 

I have noticed a very big difference in my personality.  I have withdrawn; from people, from places, from everything on this big blue ball.  The social butterfly has reverted into her cocoon.  It's happier here.  I don't get let down by people.  I don't have to trust anyone.  I don't have to rely on false comfort.  I have built my world and it is just fine by me.  The more I hide, the more my energy returns, the better I feel.  I keep a very tight circle of friends that I communicate with often, and trust them with my life.  Others have fallen by the wayside, others (once I was declared cancer-free) felt no need to be in my life.  I am glad that my illness gave you purpose.  I gave me a purpose too, it allowed me to rip out the weeds from the roses in my life. 

There is a whole other group of people that give me more than imagined, but yet, I hide from them as well.  You would think that unicorns could stick together, but alas, I am drifting to another part of the rainbow.  No, you WON'T get this reference unless you are a unicorn as well.  I think my horn snapped off and now I'm just a regular horse.

This is not a pity-post.  Don't even go there.  It appears I was able to write about NOT being able to write.  Oh, the irony. 

One day I hope to join you in your world once more.  For now, I gladly embrace my gilded cage.  I am untouchable.  I am healing.  I am being me.