I loose my ability to write. It's been quite sometimes, very close to a year. And it's been the loneliest period of time in my life.
I was alone almost the entirety of my 20s. What I mean is, I handled my own affair. Whenever I felt low and had no one I could talk to, I had my writing: words that came to me, gave meanings to feelings and emotions. It is always a comfort to hear those words, like a blanket, like there's no need to fear they would turn their back to me. It's like faith. Nothing's ever been so solid in my world.
Was it a drunken state or quite storm that swallowed me? I suspected both were the masterminds. But to be fair, I had my share of mistakes in making them happened. I made my own choice, I just didn't know that I had to pay the consequences with something that was so dear to me. Loosing those words left me paralyzed. Loosing those words filled me with tears. I had never before, cried that much in my life. It's overflowing like a river.
I can say now, without loosing those words, I would have underestimated the importance of their role in my sanity. Life is a hard battle field for me. Everyday I wake up and immediately gather my will to carry on, otherwise the day is gonna be wasted, in my melancholy. I learn to note the little things that bring me joy, some tokens to give me strenght. I learn to appreciate kindness that comes in my way, knowing it will soften my edges. I learn so much by loosing first.
Writing is my only truth, things that I might never speak in person, but unavoidable to feel neverthless. I don't think I will do something that will affect its presence in my days. This life is a hard battle field and loves to break heart left and right. I honestly do not have so much left in me to spend on its malicious turns and humors.
I'll stay in my lane.
