I knew from the start that this story was going to be horrifying, but I thought I could do something interesting that I hadn't seen before. It felt clever, subversive even, as I built up a sense of dread. Now I'm right before the scene where the claws come out. If I do my job right, it's going to be brutal and visceral and nauseating. And I don't want to write this.
I hate that this is what my brain comes up with whenever I try to write a story. That's part of why I gave up writing before, because I was tired of writing scenes that made me feel miserable. I would love to be a writer whose stories are gentle and comforting, if those were the ideas I had in my head. As it is, I'm not sure it's worth it to keep hurting myself to try to write more.