He sits on the toilet. The sun barely peeking over the horizon. Shorts around his ankles, his face buried in his hands. Brushing his hands through his hair, sitting up, shoulders back. “I can do this!” He could hear the doubt, moreover feel it in his body. The ton of self doubt glistening rocks sinking and weighing down not only his stomach but his spirit too. The lump of fear clogging his throat, that locked away his confidence. “I can do this! Fake it til you make it, right?” Pulling up his shorts, standing tall, flushing the toilet along with his dreams. His shoulders deflat. He now stands clutching the bathroom counter and facing himself in the mirror. He stared into the stranger’s eyes. Questioning the wrinkle ridden face. Who was this man? Where had the man he known gone? Shifting his gaze down, softly leaving his lips, “no I can’t. “
The flux of energy. The desire to create. To do nothing. It ebbs and flows. Leaving me feeling vulnerable and exposed. I am not sure what to do. I feel like I have to do something. Create something. Get clients. So I sit and stare at my screen. Check social media. I want to create something. I scroll through my writing. I am uninspired and stuck. Feel like I am sinking. Slowly without a life vest or anyone to rescue me. I feel like time it ticking. Ticking away in my ear. The voices scream in my head. Create something. Make something. Sell something. Get off your ass, get going. Share your ideas with the world. Stop procrastinating. Stop pretending. Stop stalling. Don’t they see that I am empty? That I have lost my voice. My ideas. My will to share. My everything. Time is tickling. Ego is counting. What do I have to show? Nothing. What am I? Nothing. Get clients. Network. Market. I have done so much of that that I want to give up. Feel like I have sold my soul. And still no movement. Consult my intuition. My cards. Change is coming. Release. If I release anymore, I am afraid I will be nothing. I will disappear. Maybe I have to disappear to find myself? Maybe I have to disappear, to die, to be reborn? I am willing. I am ready. I am stuck. Nothingness is invading my body, my soul. I am slipping away into depression. Into the blackness. The ideas that I cannot, will not achieve my dreams, that I am unworthy. Who wants to listen to me anyways? The spark trying to stay lit. The spark trying to grow brighter. The ideas waiting to be birthed. And I stop. I sit. I distract. I pretend. I ignore. I am lost. I am fading. I am drowning. I am drifting. Why can’t I? Why won’t I? My ideas stop and I die. My ideas fade and I disappear. Where am I going? Who am I? Where is the light? Trust they say. Ride the waves. Pray. Take space. Solitude. Serenity. Surrender. Why do I fight this? Why do I challenge? I release I release I release. Burn it in the fire. Give it to the wind. Let the waves wash over me. Feel the sunshine. Bask in life’s glory. Look at the stars. Sit in nature. Pick myself up. Collect my thoughts, pick of the pieces, feed the fire and start over again.