The Worst Thing

There's nothing worse than feeling like you're in a rut. The thing you've done for years that feels as natural as breathing, now takes a monumental effort. You do what you normally do to get your creative juices flowing. You watch your favorite movie (Lost in Translation) and you barely make it through half. You put on your favorite album (The Jesus & Mary Chain: Psychocandy, in 12'' Vinyl) and listen to one of your favorite songs: "Just Like Honey." It should move you. You should feel like everything will be all right, like you can get through anything, like every other time you've listened to the song. But you don't feel all right. All you feel is numb.

It's like grieving. Part of you is dead (at least temporarily,) and like death and grief, you go through distinct phases.

Phase 1: Denial. No, it can't be. It just can't. It came so easily before, it's just a little...hiccup.
Phase 2: Anger. Dammit all! Of all the fucking bad luck, why me? It's not fucking fair! You're right. It's not. Some people go their whole lives without facing what you're dealing with, and they will sell more books than you ever will. It's just not fair.
Phase 3: Bargaining. Well what if I allot myself a little time? Call in sick to work for a couple days, get things going again? That's what I need; time. If only I had more time, I could get things back on track.
Phase 4: Acceptance. When you've gone through all the shit and you come to the cold, hard truth of the matter. It hurts, more than almost anything else in your life. You've heard enough about it, heard lots of writers speak of it, but you've never experienced it before. Now you're in it, and it burns like hellfire.

Think of it this way: a star quarterback breaks their leg the night before a big game; a painter gets their hand crushed. It is the most awful feeling in the world, to know that it will take all you've got to now do what used to be the easiest thing in the world. You've got to soldier forth, rally all you've got and get back in the game (metaphorically speaking; playing football with a broken leg is just stupid.)

It'll take a mighty hard kick in the ass to get yourself going again, but it has to be done. And chances are. nobody can do it but you. You want to cry, and maybe you do. Maybe it'll help, maybe it won't. In the end, it won't change the truth at the heart of the matter: you have writer's block.