So, I've sat down to write an article, and I can't seem to think straight because of you. It's as if you have crawled into my head and refused to leave, even when I don't want you there. You're the one in control here and I can't stand it.
I've tried to beg and bargain with you, but you won't have any of it. Instead, you stick around and laugh as I struggle to form words. My fingers are frozen as they hover above the keyboard and my deadline looms overhead, but you don't care because you thrive on this panic that builds up inside of me. The clock ticks away the wordless minutes.
Professionals and amateurs alike are terrified at the thought of you, afraid that you will take residence in their heads and never leave, haunting them for the rest of their lives. They perform rituals to rid themselves of you. They lash out or cry when reminded of your power over them. They travel places to try and run away from you, but you still lurk in the background, waiting to pounce.
I know you're a part of every writer's life, but I don't think I'll ever understand you or how you manage to do what you do. I don't understand how you could enjoy watching people struggle when all they want to do is write. Most importantly, I can't understand why you've chosen me as your latest victim. I'm trying to write an article that provokes some emotion or thought, not the Declaration of Independence, though, like it's not that deep.
I see you're putting up quite the fight, so I'm just going to have to fight harder to win this battle. You've chosen me as your victim, but I think it's time I made you mine, so I'll turn your attempts to trip me up back on you. I'll write about you, you can't stop me from doing that. So, here's to you, Writer's Block. You tried to make me surrender, but here I am, victorious in the end. So congratulations, you played yourself.