shamanicshaymin | Kill me plz

What good am I if I can't even write anymore? I'll trade my social life just to get my inspiration back. Nowadays, it's like I pounce whatever itty bitty thing I can find whether or not it's "true" inspiration, I'm that effing desperate. Inspiration is like food and drink--it turns into sand when I try stuffing it down my throat. How's that for malnourishment?

What makes this more amusing is I haven't done anything worthwhile in 6 months. Fun. Wait a minute, "fun"? What's that? All I am is just scared, miserable and clingy now. I can't even "relax" without my brain screaming somewhere, "FIC. FIC." Then me not doing anything and feeling awful for it. It's that, or when I actually *GASP* write for once, I compare it to my older drafts, and I. Just. CRY. There's no life to me anymore. It's boring, it's pretentious, it's shallow, nobody will read it. I sure as hell can't.

I always tell people, "I'm going to be a novelist." Ah ha ha, look who's TOTALLY murdered her dream now.

I wouldn't have compromised as much
So much of myself for fear of having you hating me
I would've sung so loudly it would've cracked myself!
I became self-conscious of anything exuberant

I wouldn't have sold myself short
I wouldn't have kept my eyes glued to the ground
If I had've known my invisibility would not make a difference
I would've run around screaming proudly at the top of my voice

I wouldn't have said it was in fact luck
I'm talking idealism here
I would not have been so self-deprecating
I wouldn't have cowered for fear of having my eyes scratched out!

I wouldn't have cut my comfort off
I wouldn't have feigned needlessness
I would not have discredited every one of their compliments
It was your approval I wanted
Your congratulations

I need help with the Block. Desperately. It's that, or doing as the subject line says. 'Cause everything I do to smash it smashes my writing/myself instead. Overall? All I'm doing is just making it worse. ;D