Fictional Illness

  What is wrong with me?!  This isn't a serious question, nor does it need the dozen of answers that I'm sure came to the minds of those who know me well.  So let me be more specific: Why can't I write?  I've heard of writer's block, and thought I'd even experienced it, but I'm starting to think I'm just beginning to understand it.  Hours and days of staring at my computer, feeling like I'm at a complete loss of what to write, or how to write.  But that's not really a big deal as a writer is it?  Knowing how to write?
  I wonder if this is fatal.  The way the frustration, the lack of ideas and passion are making me tired all the time, I feel like I'm catching something.  Perhaps I'm writing impaired: unable to write at this time.  No amount of walks, stops for food, even homemade hot chocolate is doing the trick.
  The people upstairs have been yelling, which makes me want earplugs.  Instead I turn on music, but that's just as distracting, having Daughtry serenading me with a rock ballad love song.  My head starts hurting, so I lay down for just fifteen minutes... which turns into thirty or forty-five.  I'm not being productive, so I turn on the TV to distract myself and maybe get my mind of the plot so that a brilliant piece of prose might come to mind so that I can start on this amazing flow of words.  Also not happening.
  Is it fear?  Lately I've been going between my first draft of Cass's story and the re-write and there are times where I am staring at the screen wondering if I'm ruining everything I liked about the original by trying to make it better.  Even when I know I am making it better, the doubt creeps in.  Am I cutting too much?  Too little?  Does this new scene flow with everything else that's happening?
  I asked for some of the people closest to me to pray me through this today, to pray I get into a flow and stop second guessing myself, but here I sit.  The only thing that seems to have flowed out of me all day is this blog, which I probably shouldn't be spending time on.
  I want to sit and scream at the ceiling, begging God to help me write the way he wants me to, instead of just praying inside of my head.  But that might cause too many questions in this paper-thin-wall house.  So I'll continue to sit here, plugging along, trying to at least get one chapter done, when my goal for the day was two or more.  Say a prayer for me and my fictional illness please?  And maybe buy me some earplugs for the next major holiday?  Thanks.
<3 Kayla