A Few Days in The Life...

This is for the Dear Diary... Competition. Please be considerate these are true events.

*Disclaimer
Some of the events have been exaggerated/altered to protect the individuals. Majority of this is real life. However, some stories have had to be changed to stop people from figuring out who these people are. No one in these stories are at a point where their life is in danger. People are aware of their situations. But as said, for privacy reasons stories have had to be exaggerated. Sorry.

Also, there could be triggers in here, so please be careful.

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5. 5th February 2016

I haven't made an entry since i'd discovered i'd won the competition for the month of December. It's the second month of the year after. 
I haven't written much at all since December last year.
It's not as though I haven't tried. I have. I've just run out of things to say.
Nothing particularly bad has happened over the past month, rather, good things have started to happen; I made up with my best friend, i've gone to school every day, training started again, i've been invited to skate with the national team for three weeks, my job is well, i've made new friends. 
Nothing bad has happened, almost at all. I get sad and feel alone and isolated every now and again. But I always get over it.

I don't understand. Maybe. Maybe that's why I couldn't write. Maybe I haven't felt strongly about anything to write. Maybe for the past month i've been stuck in this feeling of neutrality that the creativity has ceased. Maybe because I haven't felt so excruciatingly sad, or hopelessly happy, maybe the words of passion I once wrote have gone dull.

It's not like I haven't done anything either, I worked at a Guy Sebastian concert, spoke to someone famous over twitter, attended numerous meetings. 

I don't know what's going on with me, with my body and my mind. It's like. Last year, I was so tired all of the time from trying to be okay. This year though, I haven't had to try as hard, and my body, it's not used to being okay. I cant sleep normally, I can't eat normally. My body's used to having to try so hard to get out of bed, forcing food down my throat, and now, it doesn't have to. I over worked my body last year, it's as if, my body's still trying to compensate for that, even though it doesn't need to.

Maybe that's why I can't write. Because everything about my current being is out of whack and uncomfortable and different.

Who ever thought that being okay could cause so many problems?

I'm not sad now, nor am I angry or alone. I'm fine. Just that, fine. I'm not filled with rage or despair. I'm fine.

I want to write and feel something intense. I want that sense of passion I had last year. I want those moments of happiness back, the ones that felt so incredible because they were rare. I'm fine. I'm somewhere in between sadness and happiness, and I don't know what to do about it. I don't know how to reconnect to the creativity inside of me. It doesn't matter how long I stare at a blank page or a pen or a computer, nothing ever comes to me. I can't think, not how I did. Nothing I write seems right, and if it's not right it's wrong, and that's not good enough. 

Nothing I write has been good enough. 

But i'm fine. Maybe, maybe because i'm fine I can't write. 

Because I haven't had to try so hard to find happiness, so I haven't had to try for anything at all. 

It's kind of sad when you look at it that way, isn't it. Rather ironic really.

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