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Sep 2019
I used to think the cause of the loss of my writing ability is because I am happy, which will be highly doubtful, or I am empty, that I don't feel anything, leaving nothing to write, leaving the words soulless.

Now it has come to a realization that the cause of it is because; I don't let myself to feel.

I buried my sadness in silence, in nonexistent boxes of shadows and slowly, painfully, I'm getting used to it. To not acknowledging my feelings, to think they're *******, that my sadness is useless, and I shouldn't feel that way.

And when it gets too overwhelming, too suffocating, I don't know where to go. I ran out of boxes, they couldn't take it anymore. I don't know where to go, and when I try to pen the sadness down, the papers sound as if they're mad at me, as if they refuse to listen. No words coming out, it's left blankly and I thought it's because words will not do justice to the feelings I endure, turns out it's because I unknowingly **** my own healing.

As I'm in the process to have it back, most of it ends to no avail. I want to write again. I want to write again, for myself, for my own sanity, for you, for the world.
Written by
R  20/F/Indonesia
   Carmen Jane
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