I began writing years ago. I honestly don’t even remember how many years I’ve been doing this, but I remember why. I was one of those kids who didn’t have many people to talk to, felt like I couldn’t trust anyone, didn’t know how to express myself so other people could understand, etc. I was one of those people who isolated themselves because they didn’t want to get looked down upon by the others surrounding, laughed at, judged, etc.
Writing became my way of escaping the world around me, and as my way to vent my thoughts and put them down on paper. (Sometimes I didn’t feel as if my thoughts/feelings were actually real until I wrote them down.) I went day by day and wrote something. I wrote about the day I had. I wrote about a feeling, a circumstance, a problem, a conflict, a question, a doubt, etc. I wrote about anything that came to mind.
I also made up these ‘other worlds’ to trap myself in. I wrote about these places where I was confident, brave, smart and courageous. I wrote about a person, putting them as the main character, who resembled the person I wanted to be. I wrote about a place, a situation, or a problem that I wanted to encounter or fix or deal with head on. Writing gave me the power to create things I never would’ve been able to in the ‘real world’.
This was my escape route. Whenever I was dealing with too much at home, or school, I would write. If I was conflicted with feelings, I’d write. If I wanted to talk about something but had no one there, I’d write. Talking to a screen, or myself, always seemed easier than trying to explain things you don’t understand to someone else.
So I wrote. I write. It all began there.