What does one do when they have no more stories to tell? They've sobered up and find their life boring, their recovery and post-toxic, post-death memoirs mediocre and mundane? When they can't write sober, and they can't write high or drunk anymore either? When one falls into a deep depression because thoughts do not come clear on paper, when the mind moves too fast for the pen on paper, or fingers on a keyboard? When one has a great idea, and it comes out shit, and two and a half paragraphs in, you've got no more, and you're lost on a half-blank page, and you end the half-paragraph with, "And I can't write anymore, either." What do you do, when you've done something you love your whole adult existence, and you can't do that anymore? It's gone, you think, and it ain't comin' back? When you want to tell your story, but you think lately, no one will give a shit about your story, because you're boring now, with no new insight, not that you can coherently convey, anyway. You're a sober cunt now, and you're ordinary. I never had a muse. I've only had myself as a muse, I guess. And that's gone. I need help. I'm horribly depressed because I can't write anything I like anymore. I can't crank out a decent poem or flash fic to save my life. It would save my life, too. Who's been here, did you get over it, did you write something you liked just as much as you did before you got blocked, or fell into the rabbit hole? What the fuck is wrong with me?