Lately, I have been afraid to write.

This is probably the craziest thing because writing is how I get past my fear of other things, but when even the escape itself gives you fear, you know something is wrong. In my analogy to a friend, I told them my mind was under lock and key. I seem to be shut out from the rest of the world, and every morning, I fight a mulish need to hide under a duvet all day and be by myself. Phone calls are depressing, I almost cannot reply chats, and posting anything, typing anything just seems like a chore; a very tiring mind-numbing chore.

Ughh!

Attempting to run away hasn’t helped much. How do you run away from your reality, or from the fact that Mars and Bounty chocolates are now #300 each? The other day, I almost screamed when my one-thousand-naira note could not get me more than three bars. I have drowned myself in TV shows, but even that hasn’t done much either. They probably just make it worse, reminding me of story ideas I have kept away in a folder on my PC. This reality, itself, is depressing.

November is here, and I should write daily in line with my NaNoWriMo objective (look that up online if you’re curious), but I don’t know if I can get myself to write (well, if I can make this post, then maybe I can). I can’t even explain why I am making this post. Maybe it’s ‘cause I see there’s so much dust gathering on this space and I can’t think of a better way to dust it off. Or maybe it’s ‘cause it’s November, my second best month of the year, and I’m feeling hopeful. Or perhaps it’s just ‘cause my mom became a year older few minutes ago and my mental fatigue is starting to wane because of the excitement. Or maybe it’s just ‘cause I’m stuck with this writing thing for the rest of my life and there is no saving me from it.

Yiiii!

Whatever the case, I have made this post, and it is a start. It is my healing. It is my rescue from whatever this is. It is my recovery, hopefully, from the fog that makes me unsure. They say this is common in the life of a writer. They say the cure is to write nonetheless. Well, this is me writing in spite of me, in spite of feeling and fatigue and fear.

So, yes, maybe this is my healing. Only time will tell. In the meantime, let’s eat birthday cake. And maltina. And Nigerian jollof. Good food never hurt anyone.