Let's Face The Facts About Writer's Block

If you can dig deep into yourself and uncover beliefs over this, I hope that you could try to understand my on-going situation which, as some may have imagined, is the main cause of my knee-deep frustration. One day, my brain is buzzing like a swarm of bees and it merely takes the click of a finger to conjure an idea which is fresher than the out-of-date produce sold at the supermarket, instantly giving me the feel-good vibe which humans naturally crave.

However, there are moments within our lives when, completely out of the blue, we get out what is later known as the wrong side of bed which begins a trail of destruction, lack of inspiration and inevitably a strengthening frustration blamed on your part, causing your confused self to literally go off the rails in a drama queen-style manner.

On this occasion, I placing my hot-as-bhut-jolokia-chilli irritation on my shoulders because of one thing which bloggers like myself are sometimes prone to contracting like an ugly bout of the latest cold (which I miserably fought against a mere week ago): writer's block. Ugh, I lost count over the amount of times that I've screamed like an Oscar-winning actress over writer's block which, in my opinion, deserves to be recognized as a fully-fledged condition because it affects one's self-esteem more prominently than being depressed at the sight of a size 4 model donning the mini skirt which you would never squeeze your sausage-sized thighs into, or so you lead yourself to believe.

In fact, writer's block was the cause for my near-demise from writing several years ago which, at the very worst of it, almost destroyed my passion for writing and could have possibly steered my ambitions and career choices in an entirely different direction. Although non-writers may endure a tough battle to unearth the seemingly hidden truth over what is recognized as writer's block, it is often unimaginable to comprehend the way that a dried-up imagination affects you until it appears out of nowhere which, rather like an animal crossing the road when you're driving at a relatively high speed, provokes an outburst of panic to take over your senses. Up until a few days ago, I was feeling as any girl who had been the lucky recipient of a decadent dark chocolate egg (which I'm not even obliged to share with the human dustbin who I call my brother), a large Lindt bunny and a bag of luxury brand chocolate eggs - on top of the world to say the least - then it seemed like a shining light suddenly dimmed into darkness, leaving me vulnerable as to finding my way out of the tunnel and freeing myself from the fear which tried its hardest to grip me.

Whether I'd gotten lost in the Channel Tunnel and needed some directions from a holidaying tourist, it will probably remain as unlikely as Lana Del Rey turning up on my doorstep in the middle of a countryside village, but this sudden panic which flew out of the shadows and took control of my senses took me by surprise when my guard was at its lowest peak, simply by an ill-advised assumption that keeping my eyes (with a pair of myopia-busting glasses nonetheless) pealed was no longer a necessary practice. I thought that I had banished my inspiration-blocking demons long ago and had left them firmly in the past but, as I have since learnt (ironically, exactly at the time when the new term commences), one can never truly hold too much faith in what we would like to hope for, otherwise disappointment is likely to become a new ally.

For as long as I can remember, flying into a full-on panic has all but been as easy as hacking into my parents' Amazon account and buying the books of my dreams for a reason which I have always struggled to place, creating a premature wrinkle on my forehead as I've questioned myself about it over the years. As I see it, it feels like a natural instinct to allow panic to take over me whenever the need arises for it which, despite regretting my actions and literally banging my head in frustration a while later, continues to happen again and again. Needless to say, I'm tired of giving into so-called instincts which are truly not in my best (or sanest, for that matter) interests, but how am I - a sleep-deprived drama queen who may excel at attending anger management classes at the dreaded time of the month - supposed to see beyond my initial reaction and choose the safest option when I can all but think of anything else? Even wearing my prescription-free glasses wouldn't be of much use when I fall prey to these occasional, but plentiful enough moments of deep frustration because I can never think five minutes or so ahead, unless I reach boiling point in extra speedy time.

And it only took one single moment of writing-related frustration - in case the thought had never crossed your mind, all writers unknowingly carve a destiny of museless inspiration when we come across an opponent which happens to be our very own minds - earlier this week to set me off on a rampage which threatened to consume me like I overindulged on a rabbit-shaped chocolate on Easter Sunday. For the first time in ages, I was stuck in front of a blank, emotionless wall when it came to doing what I cherish the most in my modern teenage life: writing. Unless I've garnered a legion of crazy-eyed stalkers who classify viewing my blog as a part-time occupation, you probably haven't noticed that I have been absent from my blog for four days. Did you honestly know that? Probably not, but these four days have felt like the longest that I've ever endured in my life, for reasons which I will explain within time and when my head has thankfully landed back on Planet Earth.

Without having a single idea floating in the water tank which is my sharp-as-a-pencil mind for several days was almost the end of me because I loathe nothing more than feeling uninspired, especially when I know that there is something painfully raw lurking beneath the surface, rather like that pothole-sized boil which has made de-hairing (for my epilating self has been waging a war against unwanted hairs for all of eternity) extremely difficult. Come on, don't even bother telling me that you have never been faced with a problem which has only been created by the one and only person who knows you inside out - yourself. From mustering the courage to pass a vital exam to forcing yourself out of bed for the pure sake of it, humans have created an unique legend of their own due to being blessed with the ability to not only cause a whopping accident of a problem for themselves, but affect their beliefs and state of mind as their confidence takes a tumble towards rock bottom.

When I feel incapable of using my brain to its highest capability, a spell in the land of Teenage Blues is bound to follow afterwards as I find it fundamentally hard to brush off the feelings of embarrassment and, most important of all, failure, even if nobody has dared to utter a critique about my abilities or I've been on the receiving end of a compliment. Only I can bring myself to believe in what I can do, and these past few days have tested me beyond my expectations because I have been riding on a hectic roller coaster in search of discovering the confidence which exists in everyone. Have I found my individually-sized piece of courage or do I still have a long journey to travel? Perhaps it will take a while until the whole of the package - a.k.a. my confidence and panic-fighting instincts, which wouldn't go amiss - is up and running like our broadband connection, but I have taken my first steps towards ridding my life of the after-effects which sadly follow a short-lived, yet esteem-mocking bout of writer's block by writing here today.

As I get older and develop a sense of confidence which only age can bring, I hope that my five minute terrors over failing to post a new entry on my blog will become less frequent until they are a thing - one which was never welcome nor wanted at all - of the past. Piling too much pressure on myself has seemed remarkably easy of late due to placing my attention onto passing exams and my education in general which I will hopefully discuss at a later date, but there comes a time when I want nothing more than to snap out of it - and that moment is right now!

In all honesty, I guess that finding out why I was left gasping for breath (and a writing theme) for a few days, but writer's block often happens for no particular reason and can even strike the most confident of all writers. It reminds me of battling a common cold because you are desperate to rid your mind and soul of what I recognize to be a horrid illness, though I doubt that the hospitals will be brandishing a cure any time soon...

So, here I am on the other side of the tunnel - or should I say the end of this entry? The light is rather blinding without my sunglasses on, but it feels wonderful nonetheless and is a pleasant reward for my recent writing hassles (though the sun will never compare to the kittens' bags of Dreamies).

May writer's block - and its needless problems - no longer interfere with my life!