Writaphobia

It is the fear of writing.
First you fear you have nothing to say.
Then you fear that what you have to say is not worth saying.
Then you fear you won’t be able to say what you want to say, even though there’s really no point in saying it.
Then you fear you’ve said nothing and said it poorly, but you take solace in the fact that no one is going to see this drivel.
Then you fear no one will care about what you have said poorly because you really do want someone else to see it.
Then you fear someone will criticize what you have said.
Then you fear no one will criticize what you have said and that everyone will like it and lap it up like thirsty dogs, but someday someone will see the truth and point it out to the rest and everyone will laugh and things will be even worse than if you had never tried to say anything in the first place.
Then you fear you don't have the right equipment and you need a new desk and a leather chair and a cat like Hemingway, and then more cats and you start looking at other writers and where they write and it makes you want to move to Havana.
Then you fear you won’t be able to say anything profound ever again.
Then you fear you've offended someone, which is probably true, and it makes you want to quit.
Then you fear you've offended no one and there's really no reason for you to be on the planet because writing is conflict and you have none, except all that boiling cauldron inside your head.
Then you fear you've missed a deadline.
Then you wake up and sit down and stare at the page and start writing again because there’s really nothing better to do than this even if you do it poorly. Because if you don’t, you’ll never really know.
And this is the breakthrough, when you reach the fear of not writing.