Out my window there’s nothin’ where a city used to be

a post by Wil Wheaton for his blog

I feel like I should be doing more, making more — hell, making anything — and generally being more productive.

But I just have nothing. No motivation. No ideas. No compulsion to create. I keep feeling like I’m just wasting time, just keeping my head down and hoping that today will be better than the day before and that this string of days will come to an end in a spectacular rebuke of Depression and Anxiety.

But that doesn’t seem to be how this is going. I’m not really living right now. I’m just existing and the frustrating thing is that I know it doesn’t have to be this way, while also knowing that my brain is wired a little sideways and it’s going to be like this until it isn’t, and there’s not a lot I can do about that except realize that this isn’t forever, that I’ll heal the grief that opened up a few months ago, and the fresh pain and grief that recently opened up will eventually join it.

I sit here at my desk and stare are a blinking cursor for what seems like hours. I type a few words and delete them. I get up and walk around the house and up and down the block, trying to shake loose whatever is blocking up my ability to be creative, to feel like it’s worth the effort, and it just doesn’t seem to be working.

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