A lot of people don’t know this about me, but I love to write. And those who do know, don’t understand just how important writing is to me.
I’ve been writing for the majority of my life. From elementary school research papers, which were my favorite thing to do, to re-writing moments in my life where I didn’t say what I wanted to or let someone treat me in a way that I didn’t deserve. I would (and still do) carry around a notebook everywhere I went, scribbling scene ideas, or setting descriptions, or plot layouts.
I got made fun of a lot because of it. People would try to take my notebooks, which would’ve been mortifying because I’ve always been interested in the supernatural/paranormal, so most of my characters were werewolves, fae, vampires, or shapeshifters before it cool. I didn’t want people to read that and think I was more of a freak than I already was.
I was also hurting most of my childhood. I was a minority at school and got picked on all the time because I was as white as could be. My parents had me before they were prepared so they had to figure it out as they went. I didn’t get along with my dad and most nights ended in a fight. I tried to grow up faster than I needed to. And as I got older, that made me search for happiness in the wrong places. I never did drugs, but I dated a few guys that left a black mark on my heart. I didn’t think I was as thin as I should’ve been so I developed an eating disorder to be my version of ‘perfect’, and eventually, after hitting rock bottom, I was diagnosed with bi-polar depression.
I’ve gotten over the feeling of being shamed of my condition, and I’m way more open to talk about it than I ever have been, and that’s because of my writing.
Whenever I’m in a low, writing is the only thing that can keep me from going under. Of course that means that sometime my writing is pretty dark, but I get better.
I stared at him, my heart in my eyes, letting him see how much he was hurting me and how much I missed the man that he used to be.
“You’re happy.” He whispered. “You have to remember that without me, you’re happy.”
He couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t honestly believe that I could ever be happy while he was suffering, all because of me. All because I couldn’t stop fighting and just let things be. If I had just walked away we wouldn’t be here. Daniel wouldn’t be dead. My friends wouldn’t be in exile. And Adam wouldn’t be fighting for his own mind.
He must of saw how I felt because he chuckled, a rough sound full of despair. He couldn’t look at me. I could see him going to, but as soon as he got to my chin, to the gash that ran along my jawline, he seemed to lose whatever strength he had. The silence between us was starting to grow heavy, becoming almost too painful to breathe.
Not all of my writing is dark though. Over the years I realized that writing during my highs is almost better than writing in my lows. I get to portray my highs into my scenes, and it helps me to remember what a high actually feels like.
Eitan smiled at me as he made his way over, his eyes warm and friendly.
He looked really good tonight. He had his blonde hair slicked back and was wearing a charcoal grey suit that hugged his frame in ways that made every girl here stare at him with lust in their eyes.
“Nice party.” He whispered, kissing my cheek and gathering me tightly in his arms.
“Well, you know, gotta keep the Queen happy.”
His chest rumbled as he chuckled into my ear. “Yeah, I know how that is.”
I took a step back, making a show of checking him out. “Damn, you look-“
“Ridiculous?” He looked down at himself, his lips curling. “I’ve forgotten how annoying these stupid jackets are. It’s too constricting. I can barely move my arms.”
These two scenes are from a book that I’m currently writing. I’m in the process of character and setting development because it is a fantasy piece, so getting all the brought to life for the reader is very important, but I do have a lot of scenes done. The scenes come to me in low times, as well as high and in between times.
I’m not writing to be published, which is what a lot of people think when I first tell them. I don’t go into my mental health with everyone that I meet, or even people that I’ve been friends with for years, so they don’t understand that it’s really a personal relief. However, it is my dream to become a writer. Even if I’m only a writer for me, or I self publish e-books for Amazon.
This is my passion. This is was gave me the courage to change my major from Biology to English and Writing. This is what makes me the happiest.