I can remember the first time a counselor suggested I write and a form of release. She told me I didn’t have to show it to anyone, the writing wasn’t for them it was for me.

The first time I took a pencil to the paper and started writing everything that had built up just came out. It was a mess of words that to most just looked like the ramblings of a kid. For me it was a form of release that wasn’t dangerous.

In the beginning I would write on loose leaf and rip it up when I was done, that way no one could see it no one would ever see the awful thing I thought and felt. Eventually my writing turned into more than just ramblings of a troubled kid. I found poetry and short stories to be just as much as of a release as free writing.

Journals became a big thing for me as the years went on. It was the safe place I could tell on myself and not have to deal with the judgment of others. There was a calming effect to the pen against paper. It was almost like having a best friend to talk to about everything. I began to treat it that way.

For the first time in a long time I was coping with my issues in a healthy way, a non harmful way. In a way that if anyone found out I couldn’t get in trouble and it was a relief to not feel an overwhelming need to hide.

As all good things this was short lived. My writings were found and read and judged and I quickly resorted to my old self destructive ways.

 “Light thinks it travels faster than anything, but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always gotten there first, and is waiting for it.”  -Terry Pratchett