Last night I began to write a post for my blog that posed the question, why can’t I write?
I began by speculating that it is because I am easily distracted, and so spend my time flitting over to a certain facebook group to chew the fat.
Then I found myself wondering if I have just run out of stories, or if I only ever had one story to tell? Because I have noticed recently that while I used to see stories everywhere, I seem to walk right past them now.
I began to explore this question of why I find myself unable to write after spending several hours locked in a battle with the keyboard, while I tried to write a story for a writing challenge that I often participate in.
Then my intention to blog about the experience of not being able to write was hampered by, well, an inability to write. Once again I found myself dragging the words out, and so I gave up and went to bed, leaving behind an undeveloped short story, and an unfinished blog post.
I lay down in bed feeling ill at ease; I was upset and frustrated by my own creativity, or lack thereof! Tears of frustration burned my cheeks as they rolled onto the pillow, but after the tears I began to breathe more easily, and I realised the real reason that I could not write.
I could not write because I am angry. When I tried to bury my anger I was being inauthentic, and when I am inauthentic how can I possibly find an authentic voice with which to write? I think therein lies the answer to the question, why can’t I write?
When I left Dublin four and a half years ago to move back to the West of Ireland, I experienced a good deal of grief and loss. In particular I mourned the loss of the woman I would have called my best friend; and a workmate who is also a soul mate. I mourned the loss of daily contact with these two wonderful people for a period of months, and worked hard to be able to release these relationships so that they would have the space they needed to grow and change.
My relationship with my workmate did just that, and while it is certainly different, his friendship is still a source of joy and comfort to me. My relationship with my female friend, however, stagnated then disintegrated.
In the earliest part of my new life I used to phone her at least once a week, just for a chat, just to keep the lines of communication open. There was a pattern in this new relationship though, I was making all of the effort – I was
always the person to phone her, and if she missed my call she most certainly never returned it. I stopped doing all the running on the evening that I phoned her, and she answered with “Oh, I can’t talk, ‘The Apprentice’ is about to start!”
From this, our relationship has diminished to the point where our only form of contact is through a certain social networking site.
For me, the deterioration of a relationship that was once supportive and nurturing, has been a slow and painful process.
Her inability to reciprocate my efforts to keep in touch and spend time together has put me in touch with strong feelings of
hurt and rejection. And I have learned to live with this.
But her response to the news of my baby daughter’s christening on Saturday angered me, it was a ‘dig,’ measured for effect and made with the sole purpose of upsetting me. My friend sent me a private message (via facebook of course) to say that she is “gutted” that she was not invited, and that she hopes we had a nice day.
There is nothing that infuriates me more than passive aggression, so I sent a reply that was warm in tone, and clairified that we invited family and neighbours-those people we share our day to day lives with, but chose not to invite friends who live at a distance because we felt it was a big ask, given that we could not offer people a place to stay. I also reminded her that she has an open invitation to visit at anytime, and that I hope to see her soon.
I know it is strange to say, but I would like to see this woman soon; I would like to spend time with her and remind myself of why I like her, because I know I do. I would like to feel happy,loved and fulfilled because of my contact with her, and not angry and rejected.
SO there it is, I am angry, and that is why.
And I have written it down as an experiment, to see if being more authentic and real with my own feelings unblocks my own
creativity, and allows me find an authentic voice? In truth, I think it already has.