I'm teaching myself to write again.
I lost track of myself. No, that's not right, I overloaded myself.
I put too much on my plate, barreled through deadline after deadline. I finished each project, and was extremely proud of all of them, but I wore myself down.
It got to the point that I couldn't put two sentences together without my head hurting. It felt like writing was the last thing I wanted to do, because it required me to think and thinking was not what I wanted.
So I took a few months off. Figured, at least the first two weeks, that I had just let writing settle for a moment. It was no big deal. I knew that the moment I sat at my computer again that the words would just appear and i would be in another world, singing happily and writing blissfully.
Oh, I was wrong. I didn't leave writing, writing left me. I no longer had ideas - well, I had ideas, but not the urge to sit at my computer and crank them out. I was in the mist of writer's ambition blocked. I had no real driving force to crank a story out, and when I tried, I hated everything I did.
Now, I'm taking things slow. I learning how to write again. I have a novel I'm working on, but I haven't really touched it. I'm, more or less, doing free writing. I'm trying to feel out the world again through my own words - tipping my tippy toes into the pool.
I had never meant to crash like I had and simply disappear. I'm not ready to fully emerge again, but the drive is there. It's all coming back, little by little. I'm here, right here, right in the now.
That's a step, at least.