An increased work load at work has prevented me from even attempting to try and create much, lately. It doesn't help that I am currently approaching my seventh year of Writer's/Artist block (and yes, I've tried all the recommendations friends have suggested, but nothing has helped my apathy to dissipate). While my new doctor has been working with and actually listening to me, and the new medication he has acquiesced to try me on (Armour Thyroid) seems to be helping my energy levels, there is still a distinct lack of creativity numbing my thoughts. Some days I feel like I am just going through the motions until I can finally peruse the comfort of my nightly dreams.

Dr. Sheff is a great doctor, don't get me wrong (after all, he did discover I've had a broken knee for about 20 years), but I feel I am having difficulty conveying exactly how I have changed from someone who could sit down and write a two page poem in fifteen minutes or shovel out twenty sketches in a week, to someone who takes several years or longer to finish a single piece. How does one deal with such a sudden and great loss?

I'm still struggling, though, to find that lost part of me.