writing my way out of the flood

The cursor blinks at me from the blank page, an unforgiving reminder that I’ve got nothing. I stare at it, waiting for inspiration to strike, but instead, a feeling of dread creeps up my spine. The paper is due soon and I’ve barely scratched the surface. Words seem so far away, buried beneath the weight of my thoughts. I can’t even get the first sentence down. It’s like a flood has been waiting to drown me and I’m already knee-deep in it.

It’s overwhelming, this massive tidal wave of ideas, research, quotes. I need to piece them together, but I cannot grab hold of one thought, it slips through my fingers. The flood pulls me deeper and the ground beneath me is nowhere to be found. The longer I sit here, the more it feels like I’m falling. I don’t even know where to start. How am I supposed to write a paper on something that feels so complex?

Time is ticking and the weight of it presses on me, each second a reminder of how little I’ve done. The flood seems endless, every attempt to grab hold of a stable thought futile. The pressure builds and I wonder if I’ll ever reach the bottom or if there even is one. I imagine the words as obstacles in my path, like jagged rocks beneath the surface of the water, sharp and unforgiving. The thought of facing them, of putting something down on paper, seems impossible. It’s easier to just sit here, paralyzed, staring at the blinking cursor, waiting for a miracle. But there’s no miracle coming. There’s only this struggle to move forward, to dive into the mess and come out with something that resembles coherence.

Then, something shifts. I can’t tell what it is, maybe the fear of drowning in this flood or the quiet, almost imperceptible pull of the ground beneath me, distant but tangible. Slowly, I begin to type. At first, just a sentence, nothing grand or polished. Then another one. And another. It feels like the first steps ever taken, each movement a struggle, still bringing me closer to something solid. The words begin to flow, not perfectly, but steadily. What once seemed like a fall now feels more like a descent ande I can finally see the ground beneath me. It’s a long way down, but it’s coming into view. The structure of the paper takes shape, the chaos of my thoughts slowly organized. I hustle through the research, picking out the threads I need, weaving them together. The words start to form bridges between ideas. The flood is no longer raging, it’s a steady stream and I’m learning how to navigate it. The panic fades into determination, each word more focused than the last. The ground is closer now and with every moment of effort, it seems to come rushing toward me. What felt impossible is now manageable. And when the paper is almost done, I breathe again, feeling the weight of the words in front of me. What seemed like a flood pulling me down has turned into a river I’ve learned how to swim in. I see the ground and know I’ll reach it and when I do, I’ll look back on this moment, on my fear and uncertainty and realize it wasn’t the flood that defeated me, it was the act of simply starting, of pushing through the fear, of letting the words come out.

The last sentence appears and I don’t feel like drowning anymore. I’m standing on solid ground, finally, knowing that even when the flood comes, I have the strength to rise above it.