Embracing Writer's Block | Teen Ink

Embracing Writer's Block

June 27, 2012
By blackrabbit GOLD, Norfolk, Virginia
blackrabbit GOLD, Norfolk, Virginia
15 articles 0 photos 9 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Let it Go"

The silence was really relaxing to her pounding head. She stared out the window into the darkness wondering why her entire world had decided to pile onto one tiny ass plane, fly over the lake of doom, death, and decay and some how not remember to fill up the gas tank. Then it sat there in that goopy green lake of shmuck disgusted and overly pissed off that this radioactive tar was seeping into the plane and eventually going to latch onto them and turn them into mutants. She scoffed at the thought because quite frankly it was their fault. It was their own stupid fault for being idiots and not putting the goddamn gas in the freaking tank. Who does that? An untrained pilot that’s who. Then she thought to herself: who in their right mind let an untrained pilot take over the plan that was steering HER world?

She slammed her head on the beaten wood desk right in front of her. She became furious in her exhaustion and worry, as every other emotion that could possible make its way into her marrow dug deep and ate at her.

She looked at her blank Word Document directly in front of her. Tired of thinking of ideas for a story, tired of trying to write endless essays that’ll never be good enough for any teacher. Tired so freaking tired of typing and typing and erasing entire paragraphs just so she can be left with a sentence that she started with. Tired of making a story then not knowing where to go, getting lost and having no innate guide to lead her to the path of least resistance and eventually a resolution that would make the heavens cry with tears of extreme emotion. Because that was her goal! She wanted to be the best, because if she wasn’t then what was there to be? And this assignment especially, she should be typing it and pass with flying colors!

Yet still she sat and stared at the blank Word Document, its emptiness mocking how much time she had left. Less then 5 hours maybe? She didn’t know, time didn’t mean much especially since daylights savings time had just kicked in. It made her feel jet lagged and out of wack with the world. An hour less of sleep? That’s absolutely preposterous and unfair in every way! Caesar obviously did not think out this whole daylight savings time plan. Otherwise we would get even more sleep! Well, that’s how she saw it. Especially since her world revolved around time management. But even when she had time to sleep, she didn’t have time to sleep. That was her entire life, there was always something to do, something to worry about, someone to ponder on, something something something! And currently this was it. She looked the blank Word Document and scowled at it.

Her phone vibrated as a text came in from another one of her friends. She sighed in intense grief.

‘WHAT NOW?’ (Was her thought)

‘WHAT COULD YOU POSSBILY NEED NOW OF ALL TIMES?’ (She didn’t yell or anything, these were her thoughts. Everyone else around her was sleeping and she could easily get in trouble because she had yet to finish the dishes from that night when she should’ve at least started on them several hours ago. )

She looked at the text, responded and chucked the phone into a pile of dirty laundry. Thus reminding her of more chores she didn’t get to, more things that kept her creative genius at bay. More worries more worries more worries. There was always room for more worries it seemed. She slammed her head on the desk again thinking:

‘Maybe I can get brain damage and it won’t even matter,’
‘Or maybe if I just die right now it won’t even matter then either. When I do die it’s definitely not going to.’

She turned her head to the side and looked at the bracelet that rested on her left hand. It was black, all black. It used to have words but was apparently worn from repeated dives into chlorine filled pools. She sighed, because it made her think about summer and how far away and how much she had to do to reach it. Her eyes began to water as tears fell down, the frustration finally getting to her. Time inched on, as she sat in her fluorescent-lit room. No thoughts really flowed into her brain stream, no idea that had such a good theme that even if she didn’t automatically have an ending she could continue it down a nice path. She stared back at the black bracelet and thought of the one who gave it to her, her heart raced. She was briefly happy again all over, and she remembered the weekend that pretty much revolved around this strange guy who stepped into her world and made it colorful again. If anyone were around, they would’ve seen her blushing at the thought. And unlike all the other thoughts she’d been having that night, this didn’t just float away it remained there. It reminded her of how much of a teenager she was and how about a hundred thousand other girls were probably dealing with her same feelings and just couldn’t even do homework either. Finally after a time she looked away and thought of other parts of her life.

She remembered the year before, her freshman year. All the friends she made, the family that was created in such a short time. The tears shed of people who didn’t like someone or said the wrong thing or just didn’t say anything at all. She sighed missing that simplistic time because it wasn’t going to come back and she knew that.

She looked at the dumb blank white Word Document. Her heart broke down into pieces because by then it had already hit midnight. MIDNIGHT. She had less than 4 hours now to complete everything and still go to school and perform on her best so she could make the grade, get into the school and become the woman she had always wanted to be. However all that stood in her way now was a really dumb paper that should just learn how to type itself. She her tears swam back to the surface, she was thrown fully into a nervous breakdown once again. This was like the fourth or fifth time she had suddenly begun to cry while trying to finish all the work presented to her. Her wet tears turned into a puddle under her head. Her hair became increasingly damp as she left herself on the wooden desk with the blank Word Document. She just wanted to sleep.

She didn’t want to have to think about her life right now. She didn’t want to have to worry about where her best friend (her tabby cat of 5 years—been with her forever) could possibly be. She wanted to think he was home again. She didn’t want to think about her friends and their strange antics and miserable lives and how she wanted to save every last one of them from being destroyed or destroying others. She didn’t want to think about the past and what had happened and how many people got hurt. She didn’t want to have to worry about trusting people. She did not want to be concerned or plagued by the worries of her parents and her possible financial situation: be it good or bad or in between. She didn’t want to feel sorry for anyone. She didn’t want to think about the melancholy life she had before high school, about the boy who made her forget how to trust or the friends who she questioned—which currently it felt to her as if history were repeating itself in a different yet similar way. She didn’t want to think about how much he went through or she went through or they are going through or what she may go through. And she for god damn sure didn’t want to think about this dumb paper that she had to write for school.

Ahem, prison.

She lifted her head from the desk and looked around her abnormally dirty yet normal teenage room. On her walls danced different hues of gray and blue. Her floor you couldn’t even see there was so many things that rested on it: books and papers and clothes mostly. Her shoes were askew all the off brands and what not. Her bed was covered just as much as the floor except it also had her book bag and little gray kitten that was forced to sleep with her ever since her best friend went missing. Her closet was bare, everything that was suppose to be in it sat on the floor discarded and uncared for. Thrown in the mountains of clothes that held her boring plain phone.

She turned all the way back to her dull old desk where sat over ten water bottles, unused pencils, paper, whiteout, paper clips, boxes and containers and candles and lamps.

Yes, multiple lamps.

Finally she looked back at that blank Word Document, the silence of the room ran loud and frequent in her ears. And still nothing came to her, but the truth. She took a sip from one of the half filled water bottles and began typing.

‘She was done with the world…’

And quite frankly, she was.

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