A few months ago, my entire world flipped.

Creativity. My creativity was gone.

Last seen alive and fully functional: Monday, November 3rd, 2025. Trench coat. Red Converse. Crow insignia. Familiar.

Missing Person Report

Cee has been a constant presence in my life, loud and impossible to ignore. If it were a person, it would be an eight-year-old child running in every direction at once. Full of energy. Demanding attention, constantly inventing something. It never walked; it jumped. Here and there, here and there, here–

It always showed up uninvited. At 2 am, in the shower, in the middle of quiet afternoons. Restless. It demanded attention. It demanded to create. To build. To imagine. To do, and I obeyed. Every single time.

Creating was never something I forced; it was something I was. I built things as a child, physical and imaginary. I turned boxes into houses, wrote, and drew. Anything that involved making something.

When Cee was present, I felt grounded, heavy in the best way, and comfortable. I never questioned its presence. I never imagined it could leave.

And maybe that was my first mistake.

The Crime Scene

The signs were subtle at first.

A blank design screen that should have been a playground of ideas felt like an empty cell. I stared. I tried, and failed. Miserably. Minutes turned into hours. One project took days, and when it was done? I loathed it.

The desk, once covered in colorful drafts and sketches, now looked faded and lifeless. Notes lost their doodles. Drafts were just random words. My mind, once a whirlwind of magic, felt like a tornado without direction.

I replaced creativity with scrolling. Excuses filled the gaps: I’m not motivated, I can’t, I’ll do it later. Fear crept in. Pressure. Self-doubt.

It was not an accident. I was sure now; something–or someone– had been here.

This was when I panicked. I called the police, and the investigation started.

Who took creativity?

Timeline of Events

It wasn’t sudden.

Creativity’s disappearance was gradual. Forcing it. Overusing it. Pushing past exhaustion. One more task and I go to sleep. Mini creative blocks came and went; signs ignored. Burnout found an entrance, and crept in silently. The poison.

I didn’t notice…until I stared at that blank page. My lifetime companion, my constant partner in crime, was gone.

Months of tiny offenses, small drains, and relentless pressure had led to this. An accident that felt sudden but had been brewing for a long time.

And I swore to find out who did it.

The Suspects

Suspect #1: Perfectionism

Suspect #2: Burnout

Suspect #3: Fear of Failure

Suspect #4: Overthinking

Suspect #5: Self-Expectations

Suspect #6: Exhaustion

At first, every suspect seemed capable of acting alone. Each had motive. Each left fingerprints on my desk.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the mess that used to be my desk. Coffee cups stacked like sad little towers. My Creativity, Cee, was gone, and the suspects were still out there, smirking in my mind.

“Each of you left a trail, and I’m not buying any of your alibis”

Burnout, sipping Espresso behind the last project. Fear, whispering what ifs at every turn. Overthinking, turning a simple task into an endless labyrinth. Perfectionism, lurking, as usual, red pen sharpened and ready to strike. Self-expectations, pacing the halls, ticking like a mural clock. Exhaustion… well, exhaustion just looked sleepy, but I knew better.

I thought I could pin it on Perfectionism. Classic villain. My nemesis since day one; but the evidence? So messy and overlapping. Every drained idea, every mini creative block, every unfinished project. It all pointed to something else. Tic

The room felt smaller, shadows weaving across the walls. Tac.

The air was thick, heavy with the ghost of unfinished projects. Tic.

My own thoughts were racing. The traitors, whispering doubts I didn’t know existed. Tac.

For the first time, I realized I wasn’t just losing Cee; I was trapped in its absence and what it left behind. I was cornered, hunted. Tic… Tac…

And then it hit me. Oh.

Tic Tac.

Tic Tac.

Tic Tac.

It was all of them. Together, but it was never their plan. They were only puppets.

Someone else was pulling the strings.

Tic Tac.

Tic Tac.

My dear ol’ friend.

Hello, Anxiety.