If you’re reading this, there are some things that you should know. Like how I write in my room at night in silence watching the snow. Or how I lie awake and listen to the sound of rain hitting the window because it makes me feel something and sometimes, feeling is a hard thing for me to do. But more importantly, you should know the reasons behind my writing.
As any other writer, I write because I feel I have something to share. Because to me, my thoughts and ideas are worth being heard. Because in a world where everything ticks to a steady beat, the melody is often lost. The beauty in the simplicity of living is gone and by the time we realize it, the moment has passed, and we find ourselves longing for what once was. Nostalgic for that exact moment. Whether it was because of the place we were at, the people we were with, or the feelings we had within those seconds, minutes, hours—we felt something, and we want that again. In a day where we are too often focused on to do lists and work, living becomes a chore. Instead of taking life by the reins, we simply take a seat in a cart with others and sit along for the ride. We forget to enjoy the little things and look back and say “what if” or “I wish” instead of actually going out and doing it. To me, there is nothing sadder.
I write to challenge you. I challenge you to step out of your comfort zone. Ironically, writing is exactly this for me. Sharing my words is something I’ve never been able to do, and in fact, I used to hide my work that was put on display simply in fear of it being read. I intend to write about topics that will make you uncomfortable because I know that one of these times, my words will touch someone. They will mean something to someone somewhere and rattle their soul. I can only hope that one day, my words will impact someone in the way that another writer’s opened my eyes.
I write because I have a story. While it’s not one that I’m proud of or happy to admit, I write in memory of a girl that once was. The girl I’ll never be again. And the girl I hope one day can stop existing entirely. In honor of the once anorexic, depressed, anxious girl that couldn’t see the slightest bit of light, I write to show you the beauty in recovery. While it is not easy, in fact, it is hands down the hardest thing I’ve ever done, it has been the most rewarding of journeys.
And most importantly I write to heal. In honor of the woman I have become, I owe it to myself. While I have recovered, I still struggle with the demons of my past and it is in no way shape or form an easy task. I have to come to terms with the things I used to do, the perfectly healthy relationships and friendships I simply threw away, proving myself to those I mistreated, and more—so much more. Just as recovery was, healing is a process, and writing serves as my crutch: The thing I grasp onto for dear life, because I know the impact written word can have on a person firsthand. Something someone wrote had the ability to save a very broken girl, and that broken girl can only hope to return that favor to someone else somewhere needing a little help.
