without a title

London.

Here’s what I told him when we sat in that basement bar the first night I saw him.

That I am only aware of my emotions and thoughts; I have no idea how they are formed. It’s a serious handicap of mine. It makes me seem inarticulate and illiterate. That my inability to convey an opinion in a way that would move the person reading it is what makes me inadequate. In more than one way. Unless I learn how to remove myself from my own mind, step outside of it, and take a wider look at the world around me, I am going to be trapped in the state of mind that I am in until the end of times.

Is this the reason why I haven’t been writing? Out of fear or disdain for everything that I produce. It’s always one or the other. But of course, it’s all just excuses. It’s hard work. It takes discipline. Grit. I am struggling with both.

You are too hard on yourself.

It has been six months, though, and it’s a disgrace to who I want to be.

June 1, 2018