Write. Read. Delete. Repeat.

I have literally. Yes. Literally, written this blog over 20 times. The grease from my finger has started to wear off the lettering on the “delete” button.

I’ve spent more time trying to craft the prefect sentence that expresses how I feel instead of allowing the raw emotions be the driving force. It’s not just this blog, but everything that I’m writing.

Scene outlines. My notes. The story.

I get a sense of what I want to say when I talk to my peers, to myself, to inanimate objects, but the moment I grab the pen or press my fingers to the keyboard I lose sense of everything that I’m writing, everything that I’m feeling.

It’s almost like this stage fright I have with the page and the monitor that I begin to second-guess the very emotions and thoughts I was feeling.

That I begin to write sentences that lack force and meaning.

My brain is that town in “Footloose” that has banned rock music and dancing and my thoughts are Kevin Bacon. I’m just itching to dance, but the oppression is preventing me.

I just want to write. Let me write.

But when I do, the backspace button erases everything I do and I throw myself on the bed, on the floor with my arms over my head and my face towards the ground, defeated.

Writing this personal narrative is more than just finding a theme that is relatable to a group of people, but finding a way to get out of my head and just write.

No overthinking, just pure emotion.

But right when I think I’m zoned out, the backspace rears its ugly head.