It doesn't work anymore

I haven't written anything in months, and, this evening, I finally realized why.

When I write, I'm honest.

When I write, I can't hide.

When I write, I confront what's eating away at my insides.

And for the past several months, I just couldn't do it.

It's odd, too, because I've got nothing that important to hide from. From which to hide. I have a degree. I even know how I want to use it.

I just . . . haven't done anything about it. Haven't even put much effort into becoming a self-supporting adult.

I'm lazy, shiftless, and ashamed. Being honest, here. I'm not the person I want to be, not even close. Not hiding. I'm terrified. Consider that confronted.

...

I don't feel any better.