I killed the author

Its not that I can't write anymore. It's not due to lack of practice. It's that I've killed the writer. I have snuffed her opinions and views, told her that what she thinks doesn't matter. Told her that raw emotion and deep reflections have no place in my life which I have to maintain at a perfect, superficial degree. 

I have silenced the writer. I have taken away her voice. I didn't give her any space, and now I wonder where she's gone. I tried to get her to write about things that didn't matter to her in hopes that she'll come back, but she didn't. I showed a friend something that she wrote a few years ago and told him: "I can't write like that anymore", and he replied that it's because nowadays I criticize myself too much, care about what other people think. 

I know now that in order to bring her back from the dead I would have to let her hold the pen. Let her write whatever she wants and not try to restrain her. Only then will the writer in me start penning again.