An open letter to writer’s block from myself in 2013.

“You really need to fix your posture.” She said.

And in my mind this translated to her telling me to fix my life.

I woke up.

My mom hates me. I know it by the way she talks, by the way she looks at me even though she tries hard not to. She’s been hating me for a while now because I’ve been that one wasteful person at home lazing around. I don’t blame her at all. But lately I’ve been dying to get myself fixed as well. So today November 1, 2013, I think I finally woke up.

Lately, I’ve been suffering extreme writer’s block. It’s gotten too severe that it has even gotten to the way of my thinking and my work ethic. I’ve so much been blaming it on work and myself needing a break since it is, well the semester’s break after all. “I am but a child”, I would say. “Give me a break” the more I would say. Well, complaining had never been so unhelpful. I could tell you that.

I’m totally damaged. I can’t write, I can’t think. My room is a mess, I write jibberish just as how majority of my friends usually do in an informal setting. I am totally unorganized and I am very much delaying on everything I need to do. I am going crazy.

Also, I’ve been drinking so much lately. And I’ve been trying to fix other people’s problems so much that I’ve diminished my own self respect as well. I’ve been so occupied with other people’s lives that I forgot to live on my own, to fix myself even. All the while I probably thought I could fix myself getting lost in spontaneity and the likes; the yolo mentality Yeah, I admit, how foolish and childish of me to succumb to this again. With what such seventeen year- old trends, I am killing myself again. It is my whole freshman year all over.

What wasteful child.

And here, it brings me to this hard truth: Booze never fixes anything.

My sister would say otherwise, she’d tell me to drink anyway. I envy her all the time because I would always believe her when she says it. I wonder, does she even suffer the things I do? Or perhaps, I’m probably just as those who tend to over think too much. O god, do I have too many feelings? I’ve been trying to drown it out. It’s coming back again.

Sometimes I get to think I am plagued with too many feelings, other times I feel like my feelings are what makes me function very well as a writer. Which is it? Maybe I’m unstable, or maybe I need to contain all these.

Wow, almost through with a page on MS, the first time in a long time I’ve written something with beef. I am now up to 500 words on count. Maybe it’s coming back to me now. Will this be it? Oh please writer’s block, fuck off. I need myself back.

I’m tired of you.