I always tell people I’ve been writing since my mother birthed me. That’s how it feels but truthfully, I’ve been writing since I was 5 or 6. By the time I reached middle school, my love for writing blossomed into something I’d never expected. I had already been journaling for years and in 2009 I wrote my first poem. Poetry was my outlet. It was my escape from the hell I endured at school and at home. It helped me release a lot of the painful feelings I held in my heart.
Writing saved me. When I was completely alone and it felt like everyone including my own family had turned against me, I’d grab my pen, open up my notebook, and enter a world of my own. I was severely depressed in middle school mainly due to being bullied both at school and home. It was one thing to have my peers say hurtful things to me but to go home and have my mom and siblings treat me like shit, honestly made me not want to live. I started cutting myself at 11 because I needed to release my anger towards myself and everyone else. I contemplated suicide for months before finally attempting for the first time at 12. I hated myself and my life. Death certainly had to be better than the life I lived. Even though I didn’t want to live, every time I’d write, there seemed to be a glimmer of hope.
I’ve suffered through countless heartbreaks at the hands of past lovers and I’d always write my way through it.
Writing has and will always be the one thing no one can ever take from me. Without it, I probably wouldn’t be alive or at least I wouldn’t be doing as well as I am. There’s something about the freedom I feel when I write. Whether it be journaling, poetry, writing a blog post, or a short story. Being a writer offers a chance to heal from the shit that has happened to you. It has been so transformative to my mental health and it also allows me to tap into my creative energy. No matter how far I stray from writing, I know my notebook and pen will always be there waiting for me.
I have a tall stack of journals from over the years that I sometimes read through and it always reminds me of how far I’ve come. I reread poems and journal entries from my middle school and early high school years and it makes me emotional when I remember how deep in depression I was. Every day was full of darkness and I was living in the middle of a battlefield.
I think about all the progress I’ve made over the years in regards to my healing and mental health. It hasn’t been easy and probably never will be. At this moment I’m reminded that I am not my mistakes and my past does not define me.
Some days I still feel broken, other days I feel whole. Both days I am healing.