I Don’t Want to Be a Writer Anymore
<p><strong>I don’t want to be a writer anymore. I am so tired.</strong></p>
<p>That little girl, sitting alone in her room (with piles and piles of stories all around her) is dead. Not on the outside, but on the inside. Building a life-sustaining writing business has killed her soul and stolen her creative breath.</p>
<p>Sitting down at the computer makes my bones ache. What is my why? It is yours. Feeding the faceless on my will to survive. What is the point? It’s a question I ask whenever I am facing into the void.</p>
<p>Many days, I feel like I am shouting at nothing. My own words make me sick. I resent giving them away and I resent myself for giving up what has come to me on the back of a brutal fight.</p>
<p>I didn’t come from the background that breeds a writer. I don’t have the pedigree for it. I didn’t take root where it was safe to read my stories. Now I struggle with the shame of it.</p>
<p><a href="https://medium.com/le-jardin-poetry/i-dont-want-to-be-a-writer-anymore-b97ce69a46b7"><strong>Click Here</strong></a></p>