I know this is a bit unexpected, but I’ve recently become very unsure of myself as a writer (and a reader, too, come to that). I’m sitting in my chair in the living room and have spent the entire morning and much of the afternoon staring at a blank page, unable to write anything I consider worthy. Giving up on that idea, I decided to catch up on reading all the blogs I’m so behind on. I’ve read many repeatedly, and I’m still finding my mind completely vacant when it comes to responding to them.
Some of you will also know I’m taking a writing course with a group of writers and a tutor. We’ve just had a two-week break, and I should have written and submitted at least three pieces of work in that time. Yet, I haven’t managed to produce anything that would pass as halfway decent. I have until Wednesday morning to come up with something. My mind is blank, completely blank.
“So, what is going on?” I ask myself. I am still in a lot of pain from Friday’s difficult tooth extraction despite two types of painkillers and antibiotics, which aren’t doing much to alleviate my discomfort. I’m also worried that my lip and chin are still numb thirty-six hours after the procedure. That can’t be right, can it? Perhaps, I’ve got nerve damage. Now, I’m worrying even more. I’m telling myself to stop panicking, but I can’t phone the dentist till tomorrow because it’s a bank holiday weekend.
Apart from being in pain and not having slept for three nights, I’ve also just discovered that I should have come off my osteoporosis drug (Alendronic Acid) three months prior and following the extraction; otherwise, there is a very real risk of getting Osteonecrosis of the Jaw. That’s when the exposed jawbone in the gum dies, which can then spread to other parts of the bone in the jaw and face. I wasn’t given this information beforehand, so to say I am worried is somewhat of an understatement.
I began writing this at around 2pm yesterday, and here we are today at gone 2pm, and I’ve written nothing of any worth of interest. I’ve spent the entire morning flicking back and forwards through posts I want to read and comment on, but my concentration is severely lacking, and it’s past the stage of seeing anything other than panic and feeling overwhelmed.
I’m seriously wondering whether I should give up my writing course and blogging, although I know I’d miss all my classmates and blogging friends terribly. I don’t feel I have anything worthwhile to offer, and I shouldn’t expect others to take an interest in my writing if I cannot reciprocate. Perhaps, it would be better if I weren’t here. I feel hopeless, quite unlike my usual self. I think my desire to be a writer will never amount to anything. I am, for want of a better expression, dead in the water.
Many of you will know that my counselling with Chris is ending on the 4th of January, which I’m terrified about. I would normally be there this afternoon and again next week, but the counselling agency is, understandably, closed for two weeks for the Christmas holidays and New Year. The best way I can cope with the absence of my session today is to write, so I thought I’d write a simple poem for my new, as yet unknown counsellor.
Dear Unknown Counsellor,
I’m devastated and so upset to be away from Chris I’ve fallen into the darkness and straight into the abyss
I’ve no idea when I’ll meet you Apparently, there’s a queue Otherwise known as a waiting list How long? I wish I knew
I do hope that we’ll get on and in you, I’ll learn to trust I hope you’ll understand my truths and not view me with disgust
I write a lot of poetry and dabble with some ‘art’ It’s just how I express myself pouring out the whole of my heart
I have a problem with anger I can’t get it off my chest I can’t scream into a pillow although I’ve tried my best
I hope I get to meet you soon I’m scared out here all alone I’ve been so lucky to have Chris and the care that she has shown
*Please take away the ticking of the therapy room’s clock It reminds me of the horror room and the door with the bolted lock
My heart is already broken in two I have one more week; then, the end I hope my words are acceptable and these thoughts that I have penned
Where do I begin with you? Do I have to start over again? I think I could talk forever dispelling this huge weight of pain.
There’s nothing clever or even vaguely intelligent about this poem. I wrote it on the spur of the moment. It’s not one of my better pieces, but it expresses how I feel, as does all my poetry. This isn’t a ‘work of art’ by any stretch of the imagination. It’s merely a ditty …
I realise my blog posts have been sad and sombre of late I know it’s been hard to bear with me I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling great
My doctor has given me tablets Both Valium and Zopiclone The latter should help me sleep Plus a crisis number to phone
I’m trying to appear cheerful but I doubt that I’m kidding you I’m painting a broad smile on my face but you can’t see that’s what I do
My poetry is brutally honest Every word, every space, every line Perhaps, if I painted landscapes the results would be more sublime
My dear friends, I want to thank you for sticking close to my side And also, I’m eternally grateful for mopping each tear that I’ve cried
So, I beg for a little more time And please don’t desert me yet I’ve really got so much to live for though I’m playing Russian roulette
A message here to each one of you from my tender and delicate heart I’m doing my best, so please hold my hand I don’t want to blow us all apart.