“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” – Maya Angelou
I have not written any blog posts since October. I feel like a recovering addict at an AA meeting, confessing my sins. Not writing was my ‘drink’. I forcefully stopped myself from blogging, and now I am finally coming out of my self-inflicted block. I noticed that I have 20 draft posts on wordpress, half-finished, looking at me from the screen like hungry fish, gaping, sulking. I half expected them to turn into piranhas and jolt out of the draft list, aiming for my face, my eyes, my jugular. “Why did you lock us here?” – I did. I have no excuse. I am feeling sorry for all the words, stories, reflections, that started then stopped, or were stopped by their creator – stifling them, trapping them like bugs in a jar.
I did not want to write. Blog ideas came and went. I would start on a post, write what I was meant to write, with fingers furiously tapping on the black keys of my macbook, then off to the drafts they went. Unfulfilled. Half baked. One after the other, like sheep led to the slaughter. In perfect submission in a tidy single file. Engulfed in an eerie silence.
Wordpress saved them from me. I left them to die, but the smart technology filed them in ‘draft’ prison, and now I have to start freeing them, one by one. Apologizing. Showing humility. Begging for forgiveness. Praying they won’t abandon me when I need them next. My very own words. Smothered. For months. I did not want to write, over and over, I just didn’t. I felt bad about so many things, dissatisfied with the way things were, and I took it out on them.
My words. My thoughts, my sentences, my syllables, thrown to the dogs. Or so I thought.
Thank you wordpress. I owe you one, or rather 20.