Call it what you want. Hormones. Life. Depression. Just overwhelmed. That was me. That is me. I feel it every now and then. I think everyone does. But there are times where I let myself slip a bit too far.

I notice it most when I stop reading. Even more when I stop writing. I just don’t feel like me.

Maybe it’s my way of releasing all that is pent up in me. Maybe it’s may way of dealing with life. Regardless, when I get out of the routine of reading and writing, things start to feel a little out of wack.

I’m not sure why I ever let myself stop. I know how it makes me feel. It’s just, life. Life happens, and the next thing I know, I’ve gone a month without writing or reading a single word for myself.

I start to feel anxious, like something is missing. My brain feels clouded, and I just can’t figure out how to verbalize what I’m feeling. The flood gates are closed, and life just becomes congested.

The moment I start pounding it out on the keyboard or drinking in a new world on pages, it’s like the sky is new and the fog has lifted.

This is a part of me. Writing and reading makes me feel whole. I hate it when I stop, but man, does it feel good when I start again!