I’m mentally constipated.  I feel like I have nothing to say at all.  I’m procrastinating from writing so often that my wrist is sore from jacking off so much.  That’s my go-to when I want to procrastinate.

I want to fire up my favorite site and have at it instead of trying to get some coherent words out of my head and onto paper.  It’s almost painful to write.  An uneasy feeling creeps up inside of me as soon as I start.  It reminds me of the anxiety I feel when I’m withdrawing from drugs.

My feet and legs are restless.  My ass checks clench tight.  I’m grinding my teeth until my jaw gets sore.  All because I feel the need to write.

Just knowing I feel this way makes me realize how badly I need to write.  No amount of reading, working out or jerking off can ever cleanse my mind the way writing can.  I need to bleed onto the page and purge my soul in order to get right. That’s the fix I need.

Writing is the one thing that’s truly mine.  My thoughts from my fucked up mind.  The more often I write, the less anxiety I feel. I feel lighter without my thoughts weighing me down and running wild in my psyche.

When I write to inspire, I feel inspired.  I feel obligated to practice the actions I preach.  I don’t want to be another hypocrite tauting some bullshit I don’t believe in.  Although, I have and will continue to contradict myself, that’s an unfortunate part of life.

I have to focus on momentum going in the right direction. What muse is calling me to write today and what will I produce?  Being creative makes life appealing.  Birthing something which only existed in my mind and giving it life with words is what I crave to do.

Then why do it fight it?  Why is it so hard to capture my ideas and present them for myself and others too see.  There is no pressure from anywhere other than from within.  Relax and release that tension.  Let the words flow.  Then I can create peace.