Vulnerability seems to be one of the most difficult things for me to cope with. Being vulnerable is great for whatever it is I decide to write. No matter the medium, being so intensely enveloped in my feelings ends up to be one of the best things to ever happen to my creativity, so why am I scared of it? That's the whole point to me having a blog. It's why I willingly share things on the internet that maybe, possibly, I shouldn't. However, it's becoming more and more difficult for me to give my energy to this, when I've got nothing to give. I had a breakdown the other day. Not a visible, crying, can't thing straight breakdown, but rather, the voice in my head kept saying "what are you doing?" That's a question I do not have an answer to. I like having answers, especially when it comes to myself. Which adds insult to injury. I'm already not giving myself enough time to be concerned with myself, and when it comes time to dedicate some attention towards yours truly, it ALL happens at once. So I sat, and I pondered, and I talked it out, and I reached a conclusion that probably doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but it was an answer, and one I hadn't thought of prior, so I accepted that as IT. Whatever IT is. Not the movie. I hate clowns. Moving on. Undoubtedly, my most creative time in my adult life was the entirety of 2014. You make ask why, as I did to myself, and so I say to you, person who obviously DID NOT ASK, it's because everything seemed new to me. It seems that I was constantly experiencing new things. I was doing things on my own. I was going places, I had a job for the first time, I had money for the first time, and I felt like I had freedom. My friendships were doing well, and I was okay with that. I was constantly writing, or constantly drawing, and all was fine. What changed? I began working more, the closer to Christmas. Then I quit my job when my store closed. Then I spent a year worrying about money, not going anywhere because I didn't want to spend money on gas, and you'd think by now I'd say "you're okay, you've got the cushion, go do something," yet for some reason, I always let something get in the way. So I'm not going out. I'm not meeting new friends in place of old friendships diminishing. I don't blame that on me burning bridges, like I have the desire to do at LEAST twice a week, but it comes from naturally growing apart, and I'm fine with that, but I'm not doing anything to replace that empty time with something else. I'm doing the same things over and over and over, and perhaps they are new experiences, I just think of everything so critically, so in depth, and so thoroughly, that instead of enjoying the moment for what it is, I worry about pulling something from it. Then if I'm going somewhere STRICTLY to pull something from the experience, I get too lost in it to remember why I went in the first place. So I write about what I know. I've always written about what I know, and will always continue to do so. I will continue to share my stories and lessons with the 3 people that read my blog posts or my emails, mainly to use it as another outlet for my brain, but to also find something in between the lines that maybe I didn't see in the first place. I can draw, I can take pictures, but I'll always need words. I'll always use words. As much as I love video and photo and fine arts, those things seem to be easily replaced. A friend said to me earlier "art doesn't pay," but everyone always needs words. Here I sit, enjoying these words that are flowing from my brain like I'm typing the words to Happy Birthday. They're coming easily, but why does it still feel like it isn't enough? It feels nice to have something to express, in a rhythm I haven't expressed them in before. Frankly, coming down from this writer's block spell is like sleeping after not doing so for 4 days. I'm starting to realize the importance of my brain, and my thoughts, and the way I express words, and the way I interpret situations. Even if someone else doesn't appreciate it, I can always find lessons in entries I've written before, and have yet to write, as well. Where do I find my footing, though? I'm stuck in a lack-of-experience hole. Being fairly introverted, I enjoy not going out. I enjoy keeping to myself, so it's not that in particular that's bringing me down. It's not being able to find material in the things I already know, or I see daily, which I am so used to doing. I know it's time to push the envelope, but I don't know when to stop pulling and start pushing. Now or never, right? What a fantastic Halsey song.