Writers Block

I'm in a permanent state of writer's block. Have been for a while. I've been out of school for over a year, working at a place I hate, living with my parents, unsure of my sexuality and general place/path in life, experiencing daily existential dread AND I can't fucking write? When did this happen? When did I become this sad, scared, pathetic, shell of a writer? Where did my emotion go? Where is my drive? What happened to the nights spent with nothing but a flashlight, a notebook and a pen? I have this deep urge to create something beautiful, something breathtaking, somethigg spectacular, but...I don't know if I have the stomach for it amymore.

I feel weighed down, angular, sharp. I crave a kind of softness. A radiant, pure, palpable energy. An undeniable magnetism. I want to feel light drip from my pores. I want to taste it on my tounge, feel it on my skin. I don't want to be angry anymore.