Explanations are in order, apologies too.
In truth, I don’t know where to start, only that I must. So, warning: this is embarrassingly convoluted, messy, and brusque.
Old haunts. There are some places you can’t return and it’s best to make peace with that.
I used to pride myself on my ability to write, but lately I lost it. Or rather, I forgot it. No, perhaps more accurately, I neglected it until it became so foreign to me that the idea of my own words led to frustration and self-loathing.
(We tend to reserve the harshest words for ourselves, don’t we? A person can use the cruelest language against themselves that they would never use on another. There’s a whole essay in that, one that deserves things like proper footnotes and psychology terms. I intend to write it.)
But back to ‘neglect.’ Yes, that’s the most apt. It pushed (oh, paradox, you always show up when I least expect) from the surface all the way through to the heart of things.
I am sorry for that.
I don’t think I’ve ever been as worse as I have these past few months. Really, this past year. Maybe make it two, if I really dig deep.
If I start now, I think I’ll be able to get out of this.