It seems like I always experience something when I write a story.
This time I am pretty sure it was mild depression. This may not be a short story, but, hell, I may as well write something.
Over the past few weeks my life has been made hell by something that has happened over the past year. I'm in the middle of a divorce, and anyone who has experienced it knows it is hell. I'm a pleasant 18 and in my senior year of high school, on my way to moving out. I'm considering moving out before I graduate simply because getting away could do me some good.
Despite all of the promises to be civil, and to never fight, none held up. Shortly after the divorce my mother accused me of taking sides. This lead to arguments which lead to me being kicked out. After moving in with my father, having to leave all of my friends and loved ones, I avoided contact with my mother for a few good. months.
There's more, but let's save it. This is not a sob-story. I am protected by anonymity, and this is for your entertainment. The depression lead to sleepless nights and a severe loss of appetite. Suffice to say I was not in the writing mood.