I discard my wet socks into the hamper and proceed to undress. Staring into the broken mirror, a surge of dissatisfaction washes over me, fueled by the sight of my body as thin as a rail and my tired, heavy eyes.
After a minute of staring, I head towards my chair and open my laptop as I’m about to write in my Diary. But as soon as I’m about to type on my keyboard, my finger freezes just an inch above it.
There are so many things I want to say, but I don’t know where to start or how to put it all down. Experiencing a mental block and feeling frustrated about it, I close the laptop and rest my head on the table.
Moments later, as my head becomes a little clearer, I open my laptop again and head to the homepage of the Writer’s Vault. I sigh as I see the total number of entries I have alrea
