I’m 49. Freelancer. Always thought I was good at this, fast. Real fast. Clients loved me. Now? Now it’s… I don’t even know what it is. It’s taking me twice as long. Twice. A thousand words used to be an hour, maybe two if I was dragging. Now I stare at the screen. Blank. My brain just… stops. Halfway through a sentence I forget what I’m writing about. Every single day, every day it’s the same. My deadlines are slipping. I’m making stupid mistakes. Little things. Sloppy. My reputation is gonna go to hell and then what? What then? The kids are gone. Poof. College. House is so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat. It's too quiet. Too empty. My husband… he’s just… there. We eat dinner. We watch TV. We sleep in the same bed and it’s like living with a damn stranger. We used to talk. Used to laugh. Used to have plans. Now it’s just… the silence. My work was always my thing, my purpose. The thing I was good at, the thing that made me me. And now that’s falling apart too. It’s stupid. It’s not a big deal. I just… I don’t know. I feel like I’m disappearing. Slowly. Every single day. What do you do when the one thing you were good at, the thing that kept you going, just… evaporates? My fingers are tired just typing this. I should be writing that article. It's due tomorrow. I just want to sleep. Or disappear too.