Writer's Block?

I have stopped believing in happiness. Recently...
It's too short, too frail, too vulnerable... too boring a feeling to have. It doesn't last, for this reason mainly: stability is boring. Some songs say you only feel alive when you bleed. How do you know who you are if you can't see what you are made of? And again I say... sometimes "I bleed just to know I'm alive".
I started to worship the Kodak moments... Because they last for an infinitesimal amount of time, but they show happy people...

After all, images are nothing but an imitation of life. I have looked through some pictures of myself and people I love. We had taken those photos in moments of "intense living", like I call it. Meaning, moments when there was so much going on in our hearts. I was almost disgusted to see they didn't show that.

"...this avalanche I am not afraid..."

I have stories to tell again. A particular story, in fact. But, unlike the times before, I can't even begin to tell it. Maybe it's because I am not fully detached from it. I feel I have lived so much during the past three weeks of my life, that the experience tired me and turned me into a little old woman.

I have been taught that stories raise the interest and keep the audience on their toes. But, this time, I am not interested in the effect it has on people. Sadly, I don't feel the need to ... "let it out" either. Yet, if I don't tell it, it's like it's going to be lost forever.
Only I will know it, intrinsically. Should this bother me?