Welcome to the show.
I'm afraid there won't be a narrative today. I spent hours trying to put one together. The only thing I made was a mess. There's just too much and I'm too out of practice.
There's good news, tough. My hands are moving on the keyboard. I'm putting down words. They aren't the ones I expected, but they'll do.
You see, I'm recovering from episodes of bipolar mania and suicidal depression. Oh, and the associated brain damage that no one talks about. Throw in the fog of a few dozen medication changes and you'll get an idea of just how fucked my brain has been.
I don't know if it was the depression, the pummeled brain, or the meds, but, somewhere in there, I lost my ability to write. Words were gone from my head. Reaching for them was like reaching for something in the dark and missing. I could feel the space, but nothing was there.
After two years, the fog is lifting. Words are coming back. I can hear them again. I can _feel_ them again. They have weight and shape. But, I don't know if I can use them. I don't know if my writing is gone.
Trying to imagine life without writing is impossible. I just hear static. A kind of white noise. And, there's fear under the noise. Fear I didn't know was there until I started writing this. It was hidden. Low and guttural. Fear I'd lost my foundations. Not just my writing, but everything that makes me me. It was paralyzing. I couldn't write, or think, or... anything.
Then, I started making the clicky sound.
*dedicated to Merlin Mann who put the clicky idea in my head.*