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I can’t write.

Like literally can.not.write – I’ve been sitting here at the computer for going on an hour with my mind a swirling mess of thoughts, ideas, rants, and dreams. My “Drafts” folder grows slowly. My “Ideas” folder grows faster than I can blink.

But I can’t write.

I want, I need, nothing more than to be able to relax and relish this period of time between getting engaged and becoming a married pair. Really I do.

But life is so full, too damn full right now and I am a mess of nearly coherent half-thoughts that don’t make sense once I write them down.

My medications have been adjusted recently.
My most-favorite-ever boss left and I won’t meet the new one for nearly a month.
My relationship with my youngest daughter is vacillating between lovely and painfully strained over politics and things that shouldn’t have been said but can’t now be forgotten and both of us facing down childhood wounds from narcissistic abusive parents.
My fiancé is BUSY and dealing with his own stuff coming up and doing a damn fine job of staying present during a life that seems to get only busier and busier and busier.
My health is, well, it hasn’t gotten one iota better since that weekend in the gross moldy cabin I stayed in last September for my healing retreat so, yeah, that makes things challenging.
And, oh yeah, writing that last sentence puts in front of me that we’ve scheduled our wedding for the beginning of the month in which I was raped and, so far, that anniversary has hit me pretty damn hard each year so… huh.

I can’t write what I think – it gets stuck between the pasted together matrix of my mind and gets stuck in my throat like glue when I try to speak it. I’m stuck and not writing and it’s poisoning me. It’s poisoning everything.

And I’ve got no (good, clear, healing & healthy) choice but to keep trying to write, to keep working oil into these rusted shut joints and holding faith that this is temporary, a clog in my machine so to speak.

My trauma is a clog in my machine…

I kinda like the way that looks in my head…

Maybe, just maybe, I’m about to be able to write again…

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