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Dear Writer’s Block

human interest


University of Hartford


Dear Writer’s Block

It’s not me, it’s you. I’m sorry but I to have to say this…


Actually, come to think of it, I’m not sorry at all. I refuse to do this anymore; you, us, all of it. This may seem sudden or surprising, and catching you off guard was not my intent, but I can no longer suckle at the side of this sham like a famished pond leech. You’ve selfishly transformed me, piece by piece, into the person I never wanted to be, someone I loathe beyond a flicker of a doubt. Today, I established the truth and enough is enough!

Looking back, I was bright eyed and eager to walk with dignity and pride into my approaching future. Now, instead, I recoil from the mere thought and uncertainty of tomorrow. You did that! I’m frightened to do any of the things that sketched the silhouette of the successful person I was meant to become. I let you drag me further astray than I ever would have thought possible. And I can’t have that.

And before you think I’m heaving all this lumpy blame in your direction, I’ll admit, I danced my own steps in the unproductive vortex we called a relationship. I won’t pretend it was entirely your fault. At first I was blissfully ignorant...

There were long nights watching Netflix, drinking beer after beer, watching the minute hand tick, tick, tick and the ceiling lay still, sound as the words you repressed in me.

These times were my liberation for what seemed like an eon. But I discovered - now that my sanity has clawed its way back from the abyss it was banished to - that words are warriors. If you try to bind or squelch or vanquish them behind laziness or neglect or fear, they revolt. My words have formed a legion, marching against the barriers I thought were sealed shut. And for once, they are winning.

Running Sneakers On,