I cannot write any more

I simply cannot write any more. I do not want to write. There is nothing much left to say or a cry to yell. Neither I want to read any fiction or poem. It is only solving problems that now has become my interest: to get to the bottom of matters. It is other kind of books that has taken my attention now.

A dark side, a dichotomy, which always has been a companion to me seems now to be fading away. I used to feel myself quite as a werewolf and in order to feel a reality a centre inside I used to cling to this werewolf and to identify myself with; I used to rely on what was basically only a half- a weak delicate half, to avoid being lost. This dark side is at a same time seems to representing both a suffering and the only possible source of goodness[?] which is struggling to emerge. Is this dark side, with all it's darkness, really deserting me? Is this tiresome struggling- this repetetive cycle of modes and events going to subside? A world full of threats and distrust towards the Other, with constant imagined reproaches for every little or big thing, with basically no sense of friendship and intimacy. A "self"(now perhaps my "self") which was deprived of love, mainly due to it's being stupid, little. A love that could give a full feeling of being accepted and for the self to spoil itself in it. All these seem to be leaving me I think(or is it not?), and in strides specially after getting to now D. who generously gave all together what in this sense I was after.