Being ‘sick’ doesn’t define you, except when it does. When you can’t work because of health issues.

Being poor shapes your life. Yes, I said it. Money is oh-so-powerful. I don’t even mean a lot of money, I just mean a livable wage. A simple life is what I crave.

Writing calls to me for whatever reason. It’s the easiest thing for me to do, whether I’m feeling good or terrible (mostly the latter).

I just wish I could write and little magical fairies would make money appear. How nice would that be?

Writing makes me feel powerful, confident, strong – everything I don’t actually feel but long to. Funny how it does that… How can I write confidently when I can’t act that way? I think this lends to why writers are writers. If we didn’t have hardships, maybe we wouldn’t be writing.

I don’t write every day. Which sucks. I strive to; I think about ideas of things I’d like to write, but I usually don’t feel up to sitting down and typing it out. This is due to depression, chronic pain, procrastination, stuff I need to get done (because as shocking as it sounds, I do have normal adult stuff to do even as an unemployed hermit), a tad bit of laziness, and a lot of hopelessness.

But I’m so thankful for writing. If I didn’t have writing, I don’t know where I’d be. If I didn’t have this one passion that ignites my soul to keep going, I don’t know what I would do.

What would I do?


Photo from Pixabay.com, by rawpixel.


Author: tiredmindtypingfingers

Writing about writing and chronic illness, and trying to make something out of it.

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