I just don’t know what to do with myself.

It feels like I’m living in a void space in my head sometimes. Things fill up, cloud over and I can’t focus. There are times I just need to curl up into the foetal position on the bed and let it all go. By doing nothing sometimes that feels like the only thing I can accomplish.

Things are bubbling to the surface which I thought were fine, which I thought were long gone.

I’m beginning to realise how much the weeks of ongoing criticism affected me at the company I was working for. How that awful man managed to sap my confidence in myself as a professional and as a writer.

I used to write all the time. This journal, my fiction, my articles. I loved getting creative with the words. But now? I haven’t touched any fiction work in weeks. The freelance articles I’ve only summoned up the strength to do because I have to. I have no choice (which is sometimes the best creative stimulus of all, by the way). But now, whenever I try and sit down to create stories with the words (especially fiction, which required long thoughts of world building), they all flee away. I see and hear the horrible things he said about me, about how I had no talent.

I wish so much that I could say it hasn’t affected me at all, but it has. And I’m ashamed to admit it.

I suppose the best way to deal with such a situation is simply to write on until its passed. That is the advice Anne Rice gives for writer’s block and I guess this is somewhat similar. The truth is sometimes that’s all I want to do. I wish I could just write all day. And yet, in grimmest irony, now when I sit down at the keyboard I can’t.

Getting fired is one of the most horrible things which can happen to you as a young professional. Getting fired by a complete and total arse who made up a bunch of lies out of spite and jealousy even more so. I hate him. I will alway hate him. For what he did and for what he continues to do. How his words haunt me and take away my own power with words; something which was always one of my greatest strength.

Writing on is the only solution I guess. Even though I’d rather just curl up on the bed and give up entirely.


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