Still I Write

It has been several months since I last published a blog post. My last attempt at drafting a post was on May 28th. After struggling to write the first 500 words, I gave up. So many transformations have occurred since posting my previous blog. At one point, it felt like I was losing my passion for writing, and I wondered if I should delete my blog entirely. Since 2015, I’ve nurtured this blog and dedicated countless hours to ensuring it’s not only a safe space but also one that educates and inspires others. Writing has always been my passion, whether it’s in the form of creating short stories, working on my book, writing poetry or music, journaling, or blogging – I’ve never reached a point where I was completely ready to walk away from the one thing that has saved my life time and time again. 

I began feeling hopeless, believing I no longer loved what once meant the most to me. Yet, after everything, still, I write. 

Since the middle of March, I’ve experienced several highs and lows that I’ll discuss in upcoming blog posts. These ups and downs showed me that even when faced with adversity, I’ll always persevere, and my pen, journal, and MacBook will be waiting on me to pick them up again. No matter how far I stray from my craft, still, I write. 

Reflecting over the past few months makes me emotional because I had numerous moments where it felt like I was at the end of the road. I was beyond my breaking point and ready to give up on life. I feared the joy I once felt would never return. I feared there was no light after the dark I was in the midst of. I stopped doing the things I love. I stopped engaging in all my spiritual practices and routine. I stopped taking care of myself mentally and physically, and it showed. My hair began to suffer, my weight loss journey came to a halt, and my mental health declined drastically. It was my lover who brought to my attention that I was crying every day and that she could tell I wasn’t happy. She was right. Depression robbed me of the genuine happiness I had. My outlets (writing, meditation, etc.) no longer seemed to help me cope. It felt as though depression was swallowing me whole, and I knew that if a change didn’t come, I’d lose my life.

Over the past few months, there have been several days where I struggled to find reasons to hold on. Taking a suggestion my therapist once gave me, I created a list of reasons to live. Of course, all the writing goals I have made the list. Thinking about becoming a published author, being a successful freelance writer, and continuing to watch my blog thrive, felt like good enough reasons to stay alive.

Once again, writing saved my life. Not in the way it has so many times before, though. This time, the thought of doing what I love most again someday kept me going. I’m finally reclaiming my joy. I’m finally regaining peace of mind. I’m finally indulging in activities I enjoy again. I’m finally taking care of myself and working on the inner me. 

Through it all, still, I write. When I’m at my lowest, feeling defeated and experiencing suicidal ideation, still, I write. When life’s stressors become too big a burden to bear, still, I write. When self-love no longer radiates from me, and I question my worth, still, I write. When my happiness seems to disappear, still, I write. When everyone and everything else leaves, and I’m left with only myself, still, I write.

Writing will always be here to save me. Writing will always show up for me, even when I struggle to show up for myself.

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