I Can't Do This

I remember writing just because I love the typing sound on the keyboard. 

I remember being proud of my work and giving no care to those best-selling books.

I remember waking up without worrying on how I'm gonna finish what I've written. 

Those days, are no longer around. 

Last night, I slept after bursting into a lot of laughter from funny YouTube videos. A fake laughter. I used it to deny my self-doubt. With pillow covering my face, I shouted repeatedly.

"I can't do this. I'm done with this." 

The night remained quiet. My black book was opened; my pencils, markers, sticky notes were all over the places; my laptop was sitting nicely on the floor, showing me what I've been working on for this past few months. I stared at them, with self-sabotaging words echoing in my head. I crawled to reach a pencil, tried to write something down. One word, two words, ten words, and.. I gave up. 

Once again, I covered my face with a pillow, just to add more pain to myself by shouting the same words. Repeatedly. 

"I can't do this. I'm done with this." 

Those words were hanging in my head all night long, my chest was overloaded by an invisible army of self-doubt, my hands and feet were trembling, that army has defeated my final defense. I thought I was dying. And I was, indeed. 

Then, I watched another YouTube video with my leftover strength. It was a sad one and it was perfect. I cried as I was touched by the video content, which I definitely was not. The video ended. I stopped crying. I let things scattered on the floor, I went to wash my face, brush my teeth and went to bed after watching another funny videos. I laughed a lot like I hadn't cried before. I laughed like I was super proud of myself and my work, which I absolutely was not.