All your mind does is race. It scrambles its way through fields of self-doubt, inquisition, and hatred. But then, it stops. Then, all of a sudden, as if someone had built an impenetrable brick wall, there's nothing. No thoughts, no creativity, and nothing to say, a complete lack of words to explain this feeling, but then again there doesn't feel like there's anything left to feel anymore. It's a chasm of nothingness. But that doesn't make anything any easier, because how can there be something wrong when you feel nothing? How can you articulate yourself, when you can't even describe what you, yourself, is feeling? How can you help others, talk to others, communicate when you don't even know what to do with yourself anymore?
You try your hand at new things, perhaps writing or singing, but do you ever get that far, you mostly just watch others achieve amazing things and sit there thinking, I couldn't do that. Distraction! Lack of concentration. Nothing. You do as you feel, write as you think, hate as you breathe. You promptly realise your inadequacy for elaborate writing, you see straight through the false identity you created for yourself. You hated English, and you were never good at it. You claimed to be an avid reader but your complete lack of vocabulary and competence when trying to articulate your few and somewhat child-like 'ideas' gave you away every time. You could do fact, but not fiction, the ideas required for fiction ever escaped you and you were left to ramble down the page with little planning, direction, or purpose. And once again that's all you've done, rambled with no clue where you were aiming for, or for why you even begun.