I'm ok

There are times when I manage to move my fingers, in spite of the almost unbearable heaviness of all my limbs and the sadness -which is becoming sort of a permanent condition rather than an emotion that comes and goes. I manage to move my fingers and I start writing. Short stories, poems, a few lines... It doesn't matter what. On MS Word, on napkins, in my notebook... It doesn't really matter, as long as I write. Far be it from me to brag about my writing skills! I don't believe I'm the next big thing. But I really do enjoy writing. No, I really do love writing! And I may never get to have my "work" published (except that one poem which was published in the school paper when I was 9) but I am a writer, damn it! It's who I am!

And here's how it goes. Those few times that I can work against myself and put sadness on hold, or rather, a stasis, I end up being completely surprised at how doing the thing I love, can heal certain wounds. Not all, not the serious ones but some, and that's something.

What prompted this? Well, I wrote six whole pages yesterday. You're probably thinking "Pfft! Six pages? Big fucking deal!" But it is a big deal. It's not easy. In fact, it's very hard. And I may delete most of the contents of those pages today or edit them until the words start to bleed, or even leave that project alone for some time. Writing six pages means it was a decent day. And I'm ok. Not great, just ok. I can live with that.