Shit keeps happening that is not sitting well with me. It's sapping my creative drive, and I've had writer's block for almost two weeks now. I think of characters, or pieces I WANT to write, but I cannot, for the life of me, come to write them out.

The words are not coming.

It feels like I can't breathe, like I'm drowning, lacking the oxygen I use that are words.

I've had about enough of this couple trying to tell me I need to get a job, and stop doing what I love. I stop going online so much, and the second I show change, I'm doing something wrong, and I get attacked. The second I make an attempt to show them I'm trying, I'm shot down. "I want to see copies of those applications." Excuse me, but who the fuck do you think you are, my mother?

I can't fucking win. And then they invite me out under pretense, and I see through it. They get pissed when I refuse, but feeling like a third wheel is something I would gladly sacrifice, when you people aren't acting like my friends.

They're the main reason for my lack of inspiration, and I feel like I am not physically capable of clawing my way out. I'm ready to claw my eyes out and remove my fingers if it would give me back even a glimmer of what I was capable of weeks ago.

I have so many ideas for the Destirium series, but I'm choking on this Writer's Block, that seems to want to kill me.

God, wake me from this freaking nightmare. I want to wake up. I want to wake up. (I'm not waking up.)

There's too much hypocrisy for me to function.