There have been countless times in my life when I have felt like I had nothing to say. When I was a kid and the adults were talking about things I didn’t understand, when I was in school and I didn’t know what was going on, and when I was surrounded by people I called my best friends and they were talking about things no one cared to include me in.
Right now, I’m again at a point in my life when I feel like I have nothing to say. On so many occasions, I just sit silently. I have nothing to contribute to any conversations. In comparison to other people, I have plenty to talk about—just as much as everyone else, at least—but I feel like there’s nothing for me to say. I do plenty of things that I could talk about, but nothing feels significant enough.
I sometimes just don’t talk, and that’s easy for me. It’s easy not to say anything because a lot of the time, I feel like most people don’t want me to say anything. So, it’s easy not to. When I don’t know what to say, it’s not a problem for anybody.
For all the times that I haven’t known what to say, though, I have almost never had a problem knowing what to write. I have so many ways to find story topics. What did I cry about this week? I’ll write about that. What is something I’m looking forward to? I’ll write about that. What is something amazing that just happened? I’ll write about that.
I have never struggled to write words—only to speak them. But here I am, writing this story about the fact that my writing process isn’t working for me anymore. I’m writing a very cliché story about how I don’t know what to write about.
For all the times that I haven’t known what to say, though, I have almost never had a problem knowing what to write.
I have written a story similar to this several times, but I always found something to say. But now I’m here, writing this story, and the sadness I feel is immense because I’m not used to it. I’m not used to not knowing what to write. I’m not used to putting something out there about the fact that I don’t know what I’m doing.
Because I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m writing because I’m at one of those points where I have nothing to say. And that has somehow taken over my writing. So now, I have nothing to write as well. I don’t know how to accept the fact that, although I have never had this problem, I now don’t know what to write.
This is something very new for me, but my hopes are high that in two weeks, when I write another story, I will have no problems writing. I know that I’m okay with having nothing to say, and for now, I think I’m okay with having nothing to write.
