From Being On Fire to Downward Spiral

Recently I had an idea. A creative idea, an endeavour I wanted to try out. I haven’t been creative in years, actually I don’t truly know if I have ever been creative, or even if I am a creative person. Thinking about it, I’m not even sure if I know anybody close to me who would describe themselves as a creative, and therefore don’t have the resources to ask if my idea was a clear strike of iron-hot inspiration, or if it was a crazed moment of boisterous naiveté.

Recently I had an idea. A creative idea, an endeavour I wanted to try out. I haven’t been creative in years, actually I don’t truly know if I have ever been creative, or even if I am a creative person. Thinking about it, I’m not even sure if I know anybody close to me who would describe themselves as a creative, and therefore don’t have the resources to ask if my idea was a clear strike of iron-hot inspiration, or if it was a crazed moment of boisterous naiveté. It started with a simple plan — get a website. I was going to create my very own safe space, my online home that would house pieces beyond pieces of original writings and musings. It was to include commissioned original art pieces by local queer artists that would add a sense of personality and vision to the writing. There would be a series on my “Return to Intimacy” where I would explore my relationship with sex, and love, and all things juicy following a harrowing experience I am now ready to move past. An important topic for me as I am sure for many others. I had, have, had a name for the website, a domain in mind. I had even set up an email account and social media page for it. One night, I fell asleep repeating a sentence that I had ready in my mind for typing, a sentence I thought so brilliant that it could rocket up my engagement levels if used as social media clickbait. I told a few close friends, my sister, and informed my twitter followers (albeit not a great deal) that I was pursuing something creative. It felt like I was on fire, and nobody could put me out.

Then I woke up sometime this week, and the fire was out. My inspiration had simply unwrapped itself from me in the night, took itself from my bed, dressed and booted, and left my flat silently. Like a lover who has had enough. I had spent my savings on a laptop to help me create my world, but even that did not spark any joy. I am writing now because, honestly, I am desperately bored. I don’t have any hobbies, or personal interests really. Reading a book seems a task so unmanageable that I have even thrown most of mine into a bin bag and into the communal bins for the rats to ravage. I’ve seen every episode of every show available and listening to new music is a job that I’ll leave for the gay community on twitter — the only true reliable music review service.

Returning to my earlier point about being creative, my only experience was writing about my mental health. I had two private blogs, both now eradicated from existence, which detailed my thoughts and feelings about a bunch of topics from ages 17–23. There was no order, no regular posting, hell, there wasn’t even any good posting. I thought I could carry myself as a writer, whatever that is, and show everybody what I could do. I didn’t believe in myself, and I’m not so sure I believe in the idea or concept of a “writer” anymore. Sorry to those people who have used this website to show how great of a writer they are, I just do not believe it. I cannot stomach another “10 best ways to cut your hair in quarantine” or “why you should meditate” post by somebody who posts paid ads for fat burning lollipops. I just don’t care. I’m sure there is merit to those careers and choices, and that’s fine if it works for you. But not for me, it sounds fucking boring.

I think that is what this all boils down to when trying to find out what my point is. And it’s this: I am bored. I’m bored of reading, I’m bored of twitter, I’m bored of eating, I’m bored of walking. I think the website idea was the only thing that was potentially pulling me back closer to the fire, but now that it has left me, what am I supposed to do? And I appreciate that this is a long way to go just to say that I am bored, but I have nobody else to talk to. I don’t even think I have the energy to talk to people, and I won’t patronise you explaining why. The conservatives are doing just fine with that responsibility.

Anyway. I suppose I’m mostly writing this for myself, but if you are feeling extremely bored and extinguished, then this is for you too. Hopefully, my idea will come back to me. Maybe even to pull my zesty right hand out from this third bag of tangy cheese Doritos and put it where it should be. Back around myself to tell me that this feeling will probably go away, and that my idea is still a good one.