I started writing again because I felt like there was so much inside of me that needed to be let out. It was like this force was just pounding on the inside of my skull. I needed to share. I needed to speak. I needed to say these things outloud so that they no longer had power over me.
But the unexpected happened. I started writing about the things that were troubling me. In the beginning it was healing. I was reaching deep inside of myself. I was sharing the honest and raw details of everything that was coming to the surface. It made me feel powerful. Because suddenly I felt like I was in control of the darkness inside of me. I was in control because I was in charge of how the darkness would be let out.
I was writing so that the darkness would loose its power over me. Then something shifted in my mind. I continued to write, but instead of the thoughts loosing their power over me, they started to grab at me. They became the forefront of my thoughts. They were suddenly taking charge. Those very feelings that I stuffed down inside of me, that I protected myself from for so long – were now in control.
I felt overwhelmed. I was devastated. I just didn’t understand why suddenly I had to feel all these emotions that I never felt when I was fucked up.
It’s because I called them to the surface. I brought them out. Without any regards to what would happen if I did so. I thought I was safe, because without drugs and alcohol in my life I should be able to handle any situation. This of course is untrue. My life is unmanageable as it is. Drugs and alcohol were my solution, even with all the negative things that happened as a result. Just the same I have turned writing into my recent solution. Which also carries negative things as a result. I need to tread carefully on the ghosts of my past.
This whole writing thing is like a curse and a blessing, all in the same neat little package. A mystery box. And I’ve got a lifetime subscription to it.
Becoming Brave 