My worst moments while writing

The worst moment That passes on to those who were used to express themselves are the moments when they feel that writing is a boring, useless thing, and it does not change anything from their mood.

I hope from my pen that he does not retire early, as he was the source of inspiration after loneliness, and The balm of sadness, and the anxiety that has always My mind storming.

And because Today, I do not feel the same anxiety, I see the words hidden at a far angle, so, I can’t touch them, as if they wanted themselves to be subject to need.

The skills writing is withered, imagine that I began to rewrite some writings six or seven times, and even these words were not without repetition or correction.

A Waiting rigidly, I was used to adding years to my life. However, I did not master the addition of “real life” to my years.

The inability to write drives me crazy. Every shock that struck me, I accepted as a kind of challenge, or some form of defeat, except writing, it was my second sight.

For more than three decades, I have been professionally Unloading any emotion that I cannot bear on my own, ​and I have not been concerned with the content of that feeling, even if it is a filthy sensation.

I am Not interested in my external appearance, my job title, my social position, my fleeting, or continuous relationships, all that mattered, that I repel that repression, with free writing.

Then came the day when I did not feel safe, nor protected myself from Self-conceited, and when I felt fear, I looked my face in the mirror, and asked that face: Why did you do all this?

I lived security, which gave me vanity, and the firm belief that I was against drifting, against being affected and withering, and that I was the only one capable of making life in my days.

You cannot imagine the size of the sorrow that I have gone through, but I have been, expressing all my transgressions, with my pen, and then I have torn up my paper, which cannot bear the shame that I put in it.

How long has writing been stealing all this time, and drain me? It’s a new era, it makes me feels old, damn I can’t complete these words.

Every vengeance will be just revenge, except that days rob me of the ability to write, the life that I have not been able to write it for my years, who mourns it other than words?

Today, there is no adventure, no recklessness, a complete withdrawal from a devastating battle, as for its wreckage calling to me, to deactivate my ears from hearing the echo, even if I weakened , I answered him by writing.