words escape me

I have a confession, a surprising secret that's dying to come out.

As incredulous as it sounds, I was once a talented writer.

But for some unknown reason I've been stripped of all talent i once had.

Some call it writers block.

But its not that simple.

Its so much more than the mere absence of things to say.

In reality there is so much occupying my mind, so many endless thoughts, ideas and feelings that are practically bursting the metaphorical dam in my brain, trying to escape the continual ocean of thoughts my mind has morphed into. But every time i try to write, to express the words that go on haunting and plaguing my head, the words that are on the tip of my tongue and on the edge of my fingers, suddenly disappear without so much as a trace.

Its like the words that have been inscribed onto the whiteboard of my mind are written in magically disappearing marker, that disappears before I can erase it myself. Maybe deep inside, i'm secretly afraid of what my fingers will say, and what secrets will be spilled onto the pages of confession, scrawled aimlessly for the world to see. I'm a prisoner ensnared by my own subconscious's unyielding stubbornness to let me pour out my heart onto paper.

I have a frog in my throat and thimbles on my fingers.

Maybe its because something has changed.

Maybe that something is me.

For as long as I can remember I've been the girl that spills her secrets to find comfort, that eagerly tells whats secretly eating away at her in order to feel okay.

But that girl is gone.

She disappeared, and with her, her ability to write from the heart.

One day, after going so long without finding consolation in sharing with some one, I got comfortable in the silence.The change was so slight, it was untraceable, i continued internalizing my thoughts. Even now I cannot help but bury my feelings, troubles and dreams under such unrelenting darkness that no matter how bright the sun shines, they cannot be illuminated. Where I once found relief in sharing, a uncontrollable need to keep my thoughts to myself, to hide them as if they are precious and rare jewels that should be protected, has grown.

Now, every time I try to write, to escape the demons that reign in my head, my words come out as empty, lifeless shells of the words and expressions that once ruled these pages. I've been robbed of my former ability to regain my mental control and freedom but sharing my secrets and thoughts through the written word.

What happened to me?