Writer's Block

If this stupid curser doesn’t stop blinking in the same stationary place as a reminder that I have yet to compose any ideas or thoughts for this application, then I’m going to scream. Four plus years of college, writing classes, internships and I still have yet to conquer writer’s block. Hell, forget writer’s block, I still have yet to find a fucking job. “Please type a 2-page essay, including your talents and why you believe you would be a perfect fit for this position.” Silence…. Now that I think about it, I would be a shitty editor. Criticizing other peoples work when I can’t even write my own! This is bullshit. Two years and counting on the job market and I’m still the same unemployed, sappy girl that I was in college, except now, I have writer’s block.

Writer’s block: the condition of being unable to think what to write or how to proceed with writing. I stare at this definition for what seemed like minutes but was actually hours because I was woken up by my roommate telling me that I should give this application a break and go to bed. I now stare at her with fury in my eyes. It was at that moment that I had officially lost my shit… “It must be nice having a full-time job and being able to function as a normal human being without the diagnoses of writer’s block! I hope you know that one in every thirty-six people suffer from writer’s block daily! But who gives a shit! Let’s just sleep all of our problems away! Let’s just remain unemployed for two more years because writer’s block is the devil and clearly I have sinned! Lord, I am sorry, but please discharge the vacancy of words trapped internally from within my thoughts and set them free! Brilliant ideas and works of art are caged up, banging on the chambers of my brain, begging to be released. The ideas and the keyboard should work as a magnet to produce something suitable so that my fingers can glide to and forth, being able to complete a stupid application.” My tone then changed, “but unfortunately, I am broken. Writer’s block has broken me. It stops me before I can even start. It erases me before I can even write. It takes me back before I can even move forward.” It was then at this moment when I realized my roommate had left the room and I was babbling to myself. At least it felt good to get it off my chest…

It wasn’t until the next morning that I had seen my roommate again when she popped her head in my room and simply said, “sometimes shitty writing can lead to something good, but not writing leads to nothing.” I then looked myself in the mirror and saw a new woman. A woman who is no longer going to let her diagnosis of writer’s block get in the way of anything. I sat my ass back down at that desk and wasn’t willing to move until I finished this application (or was on the verging of peeing myself). The blinking curser and I had met again, but this time, I refused to let it be stationary. “Please type a 2-page essay, including your talents and why you believe you would be a perfect fit for this position.” I began… “I apologize that this application has taken so long to return, it’s just that my imaginary friends wouldn’t talk to me. My juices weren’t flowing. My magnets weren’t cooperating. My chambers weren’t releasing my brilliant ideas, quirks, and works of art. I was letting my diagnosis get the best of me, and I’m sorry, but today I am making a stand. A stand to no longer let my diagnosis stop me from doing things. A stand to complete a writing piece. A stand to get this job and kiss my unemployed, sappy self goodbye. I will no longer sit in my 800 square foot apartment, reading articles online with jealousy and envy because I know that I should be the one editing them. I no longer believe that I would be the best fit for this position, because I know. I know I am the best fit for this position because I am a survivor of writer’s block.