Writing is hard. Some days it’s a struggle to get out 250 words over the course of an hour. At my least productive, I was unable to write for more than 20 minutes straight.
But I kept going. I typed as furiously my hands would allow, even in my mentally compromised state. I wrote to work through my own issues, to engage with some of the stuff I’d dealt with over the past year. I wrote to explain how media affected me, reviews and reflections on pieces of art.
It wasn’t all fit to publish, but it was words written, and when things are going bad, sometimes that’s enough.
Write, even if it feels impossible.