Where did my dreams go?

View from Castelo de Pambre, Galicia, España

My words feel sharp cutting me on the inside. They are like razors slicing my ideas and sentences into strips. My words are fragments, half-formed, odd and uncomfortable. They sit disjointed and broken.

I don't feel good. I don't feel intelligent or like I have something meaningful to say. Instead, I feel bottled up. And at the same time, distilled. Full of nothing.

At one point in time, my body forgot what desire was. It's one of those side affects of hormonal birth control that you don't really consider important against the risk of getting pregnant, especially when you do not want to be, in any way, shape or form, pregnant. But I remember afterwards, when I had switched to another form of birth control and my body's desire started to wake up again, how I wanted to weep for the loss of that feeling over the years. I felt fragile and jagged.

There is no going back and filling in the blank spaces, the silences, the time that slipped away without feeling or mindfulness. Presently, I find myself considering another vacancy of desire. Not of the body, but of the mind. Looking at a blank canvas, where is my impulse to create? Faced with time and space to find meaningful work, where is my initiative? Where did my dreams go? How am I both full and empty at the same time?