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For the past few days, I've really wanted to write something but I honestly can't think of anything. I have particular ideas swimming in my head right now but the thought of working on them makes me feel really bored. To me these stories are sort of sad and for some reason I'm not thrilled to work on them or bother to add more depth. Even writing this now, I just feel like stopping. For some reason its like I'm frozen. The thought of writing feels like its lost its appeal. I started writing when I was seven years old and this has never hapened to me. Some part of me knows that I'm getting almost hysterical for no reason but another part is really scared.
I thought when you enjoyed doing something the thought of it causes an awakening. Isn't that what a hobby is meant to do? Give you lots of enjoyment? Satisfy you? I don't know what's going on, but I don't like it at all. Right now continuing this is even a bit of trouble. I'm thinking of taking a break from writing because I feel that if I force myself to, I'll write utter rubbish. On the contrary I have a feeling that this break won't do me any good. Isn't practise meant to make perfect?
If ballerinas, pianists, athletes only practised when they felt like it, I doubt if they'll be half as good as they are. It sort of feels like a cloud thats hanging over me. A big dark grey cloud that is casting a shadow over me. I hope the wind blows it away because its making me feel very unhappy.
What am I going to do?
