11 Uncreative and Useless

I feel uncreative and useless. Like every creative piece of me has been wrung dry.

I try to think of interesting stories to tell and I think they’re all dumb. All uninteresting.

I am emotionally numb. Much of what I’ve been going through lately has been so challenging. so emotionally charged. I’m glad to be free of it for a little while. I don’t want to dig for something impactful. I want to tell stories that are interesting, not because they are charged full of intense negative emotion, but because they exist, they’re real, they just are.

I’m repeating myself a lot. Doing the same thing again and again and trying to find something new and interesting about the slight twist I am able to put on them, but they’re not really interesting or intriguing. They’re dull.

It’s today. Now. I had to get out. Get away from it all. There are safe spaces and there are too safe spaces. I’m in Saint Joe Michigan, Silver Beach, the Pier. The sound of the water slapping against the concrete is comforting, reminds me of home. Home is Maine, or at least I think it is. Actually, in this moment I don’t know where home is. It used to always be my parents’ house in Harpswell, Maine, but my father was such a demon there, and how he’s just wasting away there.

I thought I was making a home in Granger, IN, but that’s gotten messed up and confused. The small apartment I stay in isn’t home — there’s only a place to sleep and a place to cook. Devices for distraction and work.

It’s sunny, but the wind gives the air some bite. Every few minutes I wonder if the waves are going to pop up and soak me. Do I deserve that?

I wish I could find comfort. Something that’s missing from this moment is the salty air of the ocean. And the crying of gulls. At least it’s not the bland tan of my four walls.

When we moved into our house I hoped that we had found peace. We had space, we had good neighbors and we had a view of the sunset every night. I realize now taht I never found peace there. I was just waiting. Waiting for time to make things better. As my favorite video game keeps telling me, “time alone heals nothing”. Something must be done. Some work, some action must be taken.

I keep trying to find memories to grab hold of, memories that definitively show the good times. But they’re swept away by the tireless wind. They exist, the good times were real, but I can’t tell if I’m the only one who shared those moments. Was everyone else just forcing smiles? How alone have I been, and for how long? When does it stop and start?