Dear Writer’s Block
Dear Writer’s Block,
I hate to do this in a letter, but I’ve been over and over it again in my head, and I believe it’s for the best. This letter itself means I’m writing again, so you probably already know what I’m going to say. Things just aren’t working out between us. Don’t get me wrong, we had our good times together—playing silly computer games, checking FaceBook, shopping, going out to lunch. You were even there with me when I resorted to rearranging the cabinets and cleaning out the junk drawer as a means of procrastination. Even though part of me was having fun with you, deep down, I knew it wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have let it go on so long.
When it all began, you were just an escape, but then things started to get more serious. I could tell you were getting very attached, and for a time, I thought I was falling for you. But slowly, I began to realize that the hold you had on me wasn’t healthy. You said that you only wanted to make me happy, but what you offered was merely empty distraction. I could feel you holding me back, preventing me from realizing my potential and fulfilling my dreams.
It was the last straw when I found out about the others. Yes, I know about the DePaul student whom you took to all those frat parties when she should have been working on a paper about Proust. I also know about that so-called journalist from the RedEye who was forever shirking deadlines to be with you. There were probably others. You’d think I’d be angry, and at first, I suppose I was a bit. I’m glad now, though, because I have finally realized that it’s time to let go.
I think all along we both knew that we weren’t meant to be and I would eventually have to return to my first love, Writing. And so I am. I’m not going to lie and say that we should stay friends. That just wouldn’t work. We need a clean break. With that, I wish you well and say goodbye.
© 2011 Elizabeth Barton
Originally published in the Journal of Ordinary Thought, Spring 2011, excerpted here.