I was sitting in the small room, my leg bouncing up and down out of habit. The therapist looked at me and said, “you must be really nervous with your leg bouncing up and down like that.” I tried to explain to her that my leg is always moving and it had nothing to do with anxiety, but she just smiled and wrote in her notebook. It made me irritated knowing that every move I made was going to be analyzed and recorded. I felt as though I were an exhibit being studied. I didn’t feel human in that moment.

This was both my first and last visit with a therapist. After feeling so uncomfortable in that moment, I never was able to bring myself back. I spent a great deal of high school lying to those who were worried, telling them I made frequent visits to therapy in hopes they would brush it off. In truth, I never gave it much of a thought. Therapy helps plenty of people, but for me I was too distracted by what was happening in the room. I knew from that moment forward I would never return. So, naturally, I had to find a different method to release my thoughts in a positive way.

I’ve always been a writer. When I was in the third grade, my teacher always had us right daily journals about what happened to us either throughout the school day or the previous day after school. All of my classmates had stories about hanging out with friends, going to the lake or playing in the snow. However, my stories consisted of fighting off mountain lions, climbing to the tops of tall trees, or finding ghosts in my room. Of course these things never actually happened but to me they were much more interesting and fun to write than reality. My teacher never told me to write the truth. In fact, she once encouraged me to become a story writer. The encouragement didn’t mean much to me at the time because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to be when I grew up. Now, however, as an English major and a member of my college’s creative writing club, I remember the story telling days. I took me about ten years, but I finally realized I wrote those stories not only because it was more interesting than reality, but it was an escape from it. As an eight year-old I wanted to escape reality because it was boring but as I got older and the world became less innocent, my gift became useful.

After my unsuccessful therapy trip, I came to a realization. When I wrote, my notebook couldn’t judge me. It couldn’t try to read my facial expressions, and it couldn’t comment on how fast my leg was moving. The only thing it could do was listen. However, unlike the days where I vented to my cat with about the same results, writing also took me into a new universe, one that I created. I started keeping a personal diary when I was in high school and it helped a little, but I noticed the best therapy for me was when I wrote fiction. I write stories with characters I can connect. I create a completely different world where all the chaos around me doesn’t exist.

My notebook is there for me always. When I am sad I can write away the tears in a story or poem. I can get the thoughts out of my head and onto paper before they become too overwhelming. I’ve always been the type of person who is hesitant to go to others with my problems because I don’t want to burden them. My notebook, however, can carry as much weight as I need it to. I can tell it all of my secrets without feeling nervous about it. It’s there when I need quiet and serenity.

I recommend anyone who is struggling to try their hand at writing. I recently met a girl who told me she has been writing in her diary everyday for almost three years. Though I myself was never able to get in the habit of writing frequent diary entries, sometimes I will write down what happened to me throughout the day if it’s been a particularly stressful one. Another thing I do, is write down how what happened made me feel. This helps me become aware of my emotions which then allows me to gain more control over them.

Seeing a therapist isn’t a bad thing, however. In fact, I have personally told friends of mine who are going through rough times that they should try and talk to someone. For those out there like me who have tried and couldn’t deal with the pressure of verbal communication. . .