“I
am participating in the ‘Writing
Contest: You Are A Writer’
held
by Positive
Writer.”
When asked when I realized I was a writer I stopped and thought about
how I came to this realization and how writing saved my life.
When I was little I loved
telling my younger sisters funny stories I would make up. As I got
older I started collecting composition notebooks. I almost always had
one of these well used and slightly abused notebooks with me. My
parents, friends and teachers would find me writing the crazy stories
from my head onto paper at any free moment. I loved writing and it
inspired me to be creative. However, all good things must come to an
end. As I got older my parents, especially my Dad tried to push me
away from writing my silly little stories, saying as a writer I was
never going to amount to much. I was so discouraged I stopped writing
almost completely. Despite my teachers telling me I was a talented
writer and should write more often.
I still had all of my stories in
my head, I just had no drive to write them. Hard times came in my
life, my baby brother was still born; my best friend moved away and
decided she hated me; I lost hope in my life. I sank into depression
between my eight and freshmen year of school. I didn't know what to
do or how to come to terms with my feelings. There were times I even
wanted to end my life.
Sitting alone in the dark, one
night I was considering how much my life really meant to anyone
around me. The girl who use to be my best friend had told me I was
nothing but a selfish stuck up jerk, and that the world would be much
better off without me. I sat there listing to songs asking the
question “Would it matter if I wasn't here tomorrow, would anyone
care?” The longer I listened, the more I re-read her hateful texts,
the more I started to agree with her, I was pointless and meaningless
and hopeless.
Sitting there, thinking the
world was against me, and the world hated me; I realized something. I
still had my writing. It had always been there for me in the past,
and if I got over what I had been told about how I would never amount
to anything with writing and let the words flow; then my writing
would still be there for me.
I picked up my old laptop and
just started to type, I let my feelings my emotions, my tears,
everything flow out through my fingers and onto that old laptop. I
sat there sobbing while I wrote. I ended up falling asleep on my
laptop that night. When I woke up in the morning the words were still
there on my dimly lit screen. I looked at them and read them,
realizing that if I let go and wrote my words, my writing could be my
escape. I knew right then and there, that my writing had saved my
life.
When I wrote, I escaped. Looking
back, if I hadn't turned to writing I probably would have killed
myself or done something else that I would have regretted for the
rest of my life. As I started writing more, I realized my writing
could help people. That I wasn't the only one in a dark place feeling
alone in the world. If writing had saved me maybe it could save
someone else too, but even if it couldn't maybe reading my writing,
and understanding my struggles could save them. Maybe, like me, they
would realize that they aren't and never will be alone, someone
cares. Someone always cares. There's always another way out. Sitting
there that morning, reading back what I had written I realized, I was
a writer. I would always be a writer. What others thought didn't
matter anymore, because writing was who I was. I knew, the words, the
emotions, writing was in my blood, and it was who I was meant to be.
It is amazing, isn't it? to be able to write out all the pain and frustration and despair and find healing on the other side. I love your story. Keep writing.
ReplyDeleteThanks! It's defiantly been a life saver for me... I can always find comfort in my writing.
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