It’s hard to explain why I didn’t write for the whole year of 2015. I’m recalling the main reason why, but I know there wasn’t a single reason. There were plenty little reasons I can pinpoint but I don’t have the sole reason. Did you ever feel that, like losing your desire to voice out what you think and what you want to say?
I did. And it was that year. I lost my love for writing. I lost the satisfaction of letting it all out in one sitting, with your fingers spontaneously moving with your brain. I’ve been numbed by many difficulties I had to face at that age where I needed the comfort most: a parent’s health deteriorating, betrayal of a close friend, betrayal of the person I love, lies from trusted people, family misunderstandings, my own health going down, and my grades little by little failing. I had to endure it all by myself because I shut myself away from people trying to reach out to me.
I declined care from most of the people because I didn’t know who to trust anymore. I pretended I was okay, it was the best escape. I was making surface interaction with most of the people because I felt that once I let them in, I was giving them the opportunity to destroy me. In short, I had to shut down to save myself. It was a hard time. But it worked that way. I kept my nose above the water. I could still breathe.
I tried writing, but I never felt okay. Eventually I stopped. For that whole year.
Because I know me. I know how this brain thinks. And I most definitely know the contents of my heart. I am passionate and loving and loyal and honest, and these traits were also the reasons why I let myself destroy me.
How did I get up? How did I start to open up again? How did I realize it’s time to stop and start again?
I don’t really have the answer. I guess, time just healed the pain, it wasn’t a total healing, but it healed. And there was it: acceptance and forgiveness. I was so tired of the same cycle over and over again. I was so tired to be that girl shutting down her environment. I was so tired that of that set up. And I was so tired to be alone.
And I started reaching out. I accepted help and I craved for it. And slowly, it made little things better. I went running. I tried the adult coloring books. I focused on my music. I learned new arts and crafts. And I started writing. And it felt good. And it helps. And it’s safe.
I’m kinda afraid to repeat the same thing now. With these life dramas I constantly face from time to time, it is suffocating. It’s the same feeling two years ago. But I decided not to go with the same path again. I’ve been through the dark and I know I’m scared of it.
Because I believe, we accept the love and care and needs we deserve. And it’s all fair in this kind of war.