I can’t tell you what it was that made me want to write. I don’t know why I want to write things, or get my opinion out there. Whether I’m writing a review of a work before I suggest it to the world or if I’m writing in a journal that nobody will ever see, I feel like the world weighs a little less and my shoulders can feel some kind of relaxation, even if it is just for a minute. Writing brings me a thrill like no other. The fact that I am thinking these words and then all of a sudden they come flowing out, whether it’s in the journal I keep near me at all times or if I’m typing it at 12:27 A.M. on a Wednesday night/Thursday morning.

I’ve often believed that I need to purchase an expensive camera. A writer, whether an amatuer like me or a professional like Shakespeare, paints a picture in his or her head every time they write, so I guess I don’t need a physical camera. I have one that is in my head and that prints the pictures out through my hands. I get to make my own memories, change them how I want to, even if the edits I make are minimal.

I see things differently than others. I’m constantly thinking of adjectives or adverbs I can use to make my writing seem more official. While it’s annoying, I also kind of like it because it makes me feel alive in a world that makes everyone feel dead. I should celebrate this...blessing of mine because whenever I’m thinking of describing words, I feel joy. Pure, unadulterated, joy. Like a child standing as still as a statue behind a tree, listening for their friend to step on a delicately thin piece of wood before they make a mad dash across a field. The child pumps his arms, throws his legs forward with such agility, the familiar ground forming perfectly under his feet, knowing that he will get away. In this game of tag, he’s going to make it home base and he will be safe.

That’s how writing makes me feel. The familiar ground being a piece of paper, the agility of his legs being the speed in which I write or type the words that break through the walls of my brain and knock on my mind, begging to be attended to as soon as possible. The feeling like it is my job to let people know that they are not alone in this world. We all have problems, but it isn’t the problems that define us, it’s the way we deal with them that shows who we are.

For me, writing is therapeutic. It is an escape from the dark, cold world we live in and an entrance to a world that is literally as diverse and bright and exciting as my imagination wills it to be. I want for all people to feel the joy that I feel when I write. I want people to find their thing, for people to realize that there are things in life that are worth doing and there are things in life that make waking up worth it. High school is not one. For anybody. Nobody wakes up and says “WOW I can't wait to go to high school today” That doesn’t happen. You have to make it through though, high school is just a stepping stone to who you’re going to be. That’s what I’ve heard. I hope it’s true. Listen, if you’re reading this, and I hope you are if you have made it this far into it, 15-21 are the prime suffering years of our lives. Find the escape that makes you feel like today is just another day and not the end of the world. I’ve only recently been reminded that life is too short. Life is too short to be miserable, too short to be unhappy, to be burdened with the problems of others. So go out, smile at a stranger, and write, skip, jump, sing, scream, draw, go for a run. Do what makes you happy. Decide to put yourself first. The pen is in your hand, the gas is in your car.