Hello.
Well, I lied about making another post soon. It’s been over a month.
... oops.
Anyway, it’s December 19th. The end of the day but still. I don’t care.
I don’t know why I keep thinking of this date, but here I am. Still thinking about them. Ridiculous. I know.
December 19th is Fierdan’s birthday. And Duke’s because I made them have the same birthday for some reason. Weird.
How old are they again (in the skit universe)? I don’t know anymore.
Does anyone miss my skits? I have no idea.
. . . . . . . . . .
Don’t expect any soon. Don’t expect anything related to creative writing any time soon.
These past few months, including this one, made me realize that I actually lost a ton of interest/passion/inspiration/motivation (all of those) in creative writing. In writing stories. In writing poetry. In writing... anything, to be honest.
I guess that could be the major reason why I’ve been dead. It’s because I feel dead. I have nothing left.
The story makes me feel embarrassed and ashamed now. I’m so disappointed. I keep fearing that I’m still doing offensive things without knowing and no matter how much I try to fix it, it can’t be fixed. And that makes me wonder. Is it worth it? Is all of this worth it? It doesn’t feel like it.
No interest. No inspiration. No motivation. No passion. Nothing. I’m a hollow shell. I’m empty.
It’s been this way for months. I thought I could revive the spark, but I ultimately couldn’t. My attempts to failed.
My depression is worsening. I keep losing reasons to keep going. Lost friends. Lost interest in my story. Lost interest in what I’ve been studying.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I have nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I have nothing to offer any of you. I’ve been pushing off explaining this in a post for a while.
December 19th feels like a good day to post it. With all the significance to the story and blog.
I don’t have any more words left to say.
Goodbye.
And I’m sorry.
