I write because it silences the screams of frustration and anger in me. If those screams don’t get silenced, I wouldn’t be able to function. I was taught to write myself out of my depression. If I did that, I wouldn’t be sad anymore and I wouldn’t let the past affect me like it used to. I don’t want to treat my depression with pills anymore, so I write. I write every day. Even when I don’t want to write, I write. Sometimes I’m scared not to write. I write because I’m terrified to write, and how can I tell someone else what to do if I can’t even do it? I write because I want to be good at it and I feel I should be good at it. Sometimes I write because people think I should be good at it. I write to remember the things I want to forget. I write so one day, if I have a child, I can share my writing with him or her. I write to become a stronger person.
I write because I don’t want to silence the person I am.
When I was younger, my parents got divorced and I was told writing would be a good outlet for the anger and sadness I felt from my family splitting. I wrote notes to my mom when I would spend the weekends with my dad so she wouldn’t feel lonely without me or my sister. My sister and I would write notes to each other when we were supposed to be asleep. We would slip them under each other’s door like we were passing notes in class.
I write when I feel there’s no one there who can listen.
I stopped writing for two and a half years when I was with my now ex-boyfriend. I shouldn’t have stopped. If I didn’t stop writing, we probably wouldn’t have dated as long. I see flaws in others when I write. I also see strengths. I see myself in others when I write and I see my differences.
I’ve had a journal since I was in fifth grade. My journals are filled with happiness, sadness, hopes and dreams. My journals are filled with love. My journals are filled with my life.