I used to be full of ideas. I used to be able to write story after story and poem after poem, but now I can’t do any of that. I can’t think up concepts or characters. Nothing comes to mind. People say to write about my life. What life? All I do is sit in my dark bedroom day after day unless I’m at work. I don’t even know how I have a job. I don’t have the social abilities to hold conversations with people. And small talk is stupid. Once someone responds to my robotic “How are you?” I am out of there, practically running away from that person. When I do get a chance to talk, people only half listen or don’t listen at all.
I’m quiet because anything I have to say isn’t worth listening to. I guess subconsciously I feel that my writing just isn’t worth reading either.