I cannot exactly say when I stopped writing. I only remember that, over time, it was slowly getting harder for me. I wasn’t able to keep the words direct and instead of considering what was stopping me, I just quit.
I was afraid what will happen ‘if”. What will people think. What will “the others” say. How will my family look at me if I start to write about sex. Which thoughts will my coworkers have once I admit that my job does not necessarily always give me satisfaction. How will I feel when “everybody” knows what I feel?
Having all these questions trapped in my head made my writing very uncomfortable and painful. But when I stopped it I instantly started to suffer due to the fact that I was not writing at all. I was missing all those magic moments of creation which made me forgetting to eat. And trust me, I really love food.
Now I am slowly coming to the point when I do not want to ask myself anymore what if I fall. I want to know what if I fly. I want to write without fear. Obsessively, incessantly and instinctively. I want to write in the way that I am and finally to stop adjusting my words to someone’s else expectations. I want to be.
And I truly feel it’s coming.
