I have a confession…
Writing gives me the ability to express myself unfiltered and without hesitation. One thing that has always been there for me over the years has been a pen and paper; without it, I wouldn’t have found my way back when I became lost in the cavern of depression.
15 years ago (Wow! I still cannot believe its been that long!), I became to experience an emotional flatness. It hurt to smile and my charisma I always possessed dissipated almost overnight. It was confusing, scary, and my mind continually wanted to play a real life game of rush and roulette. Depression does not discriminate.
Even in my moments of weakness, I wrote. The writing in many ways saved my life on many occasions. Yes, I host a podcast and speak at events, but I am most comfortable jotting down thoughts by whatever means are at my disposal in the moment. Oftentimes, snippets of broken thoughts and ideas spew out for me to decipher at a later time.
I do not write for recognition nor reward; I write for survival, its therapeutic. I have thousands of words hidden in locked up places throughout my home and in my mind. I wish I could do it all the time, with more discipline but it comes in waves. It’s like a tsunami of thoughts, emotions, wishes and dreams. I can’t keep up. Like the steady flow of a stream, I need more rocks to slow the flow so I can catch up.
Environment is crucial. Comfort is beneficial. Some may see it as procrastination. For me, its like trying to navigate a difficult path in the darkness.In the past, the dark used to prevail, today it does not. Writing did that for me.
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