I feel so unmotivated to write anymore. I've gotten so used to hiding everything from everyone and keeping it to myself, that this force of habit has finally began to effect my writing. Maybe even my thought process. Everything gets locked up. I miss writing. I miss a lot of things, but not in a way that sparks some motivation to do them again. They all seem like nothing more than a memory.
The life has been sucked out of my by some nameless faceless monster. I don't even know what it could be. Maybe it's the repetitiveness of everything. Maybe a defense mechanism.
Reruns all become our history.