looked out my window this morning for inspiration of what to write and nothing came .

As a writer I felt blank ,I felt like someone without a purpose,I felt lost , nothing seem to come together .

I tried to think hard ,I'm sure I even pulled a muscle or two in my brain ,with how much I tried getting an inspiration of what to write .

When it felt like I was having something and I bring my pen out to write ,it felt stupid and not good enough for it to come out from a writer .

I was in a great turmoil early this morning, and my brain knows how to make my overthinking worst, it brought up this line I heard somewhere

“You write a few doesn't mean you are a writer”

And I started to panick what if it was true, has the oil in my ink for writing stooped, has it run dry ,am I even throughly a writer ,I felt disgusted with myself for not been able to keep something that made me feel important and happy .

I was sacred to my bone to admit that to myself,you know that feeling when you get the news of somoeone you love is no longer alive and you try so hard to make yourself not to believe .

That was what I was trying to do ,i wanted badly not for it to be so ,I was pushing all this thoughts that  my head was coming up with it .

But it only made it worst .

Writing was the only good thing I have going well for me In my life .