COVID-19 anxiety has taken up so much space in my brain. I’m worried about getting sick, I’m worried about my family members getting sick, I’m worried worried worried. On top of the ‘regular’ anxiety I deal with, every day. I feel like a live wire, buzzing – this feeling of trepidation is always there, either at the forefront of my mind or swaying in the background, waiting to eat up everything.

I feel like my creativity has been sucked dry. I have no inspiration. No characters, no plots, no scenes – nothing.

This survival mode has killed all inspiration.

I’m still able to focus on and enjoy reading novels, thankfully. That’s one outlet I treasure.

I have a few drafts saved here on my blog. I’ve tried writing it out in different ways; I’ve tried writing about other topics.

But I’m overwhelmed. I’ve been overwhelmed before, of course, for loads of reasons, most magnified by depression and anxiety. But this is a different variety of ‘overwhelmed.’

Our world, our society, is changing so rapidly. We all feel it in different ways, some more than others. It feels like something big is coming to a head. Like a train that’s too late to stop.

I’m trying my best to be strong and brave for my child. I still try to be as frank and honest as possible; too much sugar-coating never helped any of us. Above all I make sure she knows I love her and I am her soft place to fall, as well as her fiercest protector. She and her friends are inheriting an uncertain future. Hell, we all are.

Amidst everything, I want to be positive. Stay hopeful. Continue to be loving. Change is never easy. In fact, it’s usually wretchedly hard.

So I can’t beat myself up too much about my lack of creativity. The spark is still there, I know. I do feel it, however fleetingly.

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