It has been months since I wrote a story or worked on my unfinished novella & novel. It has been months since I wrote a proper blog post (the movie review doesn't count). I have been silent for so long that my precious beta reader, Breanna, is officially worried.
There is a reason why I haven't written, and it's not because my muse left me for another, someone more worthy of her attention. It's not because I doubt myself as a writer--then again, I have always doubted my abilities, and always will no matter what people say, because that's how I was raised. I am convinced that I am not good enough in the things I do, and it's too late to change that mindset.
You see, writing for me is an emotional journey. I spill pieces of my soul in my stories. I cry when I write the sad parts--and almost all my stories have sad parts. I jump at the slightest sounds whenever I write the scary parts. I get lost in my imaginary worlds whenever I write Science Fiction and Fantasy. Most male authors don't emphasize on the emotional journey of characters, but we all know by now that I'm not like most people.
Writing opens up the raw part of my soul that is now tethered to December 4, 2011. My entire life is now defined by the accident. I am scheduled for a court hearing this September; that's never a good sign.
I don't think I have recovered. I don't think I have returned to the land of the living. I know this sounds insensitive because the other driver lost his life that day, but a large chunk of me died in the accident. I was ready to let go.
Here's the truth: I didn't want to live. I didn't want to survive.
I have been meandering ever since. When I put on my doctor mantle, I put on an entirely different persona, and that has helped me from going insane. I need to write again, because through writing, I find my way back to God, and I sorely miss His presence. I need to write again, because through writing, life makes a semblance of sense.
I know some of you will advice me to pray and read the Quran to help me reconcile with my faith, and I love you for that. I'm doing my best, even though it's not much at the moment.
I have PTSD. My psychiatrist has established that diagnosis. I still haven't recovered from it. Maybe I never will.
I want to write again, but every time I even think about writing, I return to that late afternoon when my car spun, where part of my soul died. Even right now, while writing this, I relive the accident.
I want to write again, but I don't know how.
I need to write again, because I need to find my way back.
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