Scribbling Therapy

Ever since I could first write, first string words together to form a sentence, I started telling stories. They were stories about my day, stories about nothing, stories about my friends. Writing has always been my outlet and my therapy. When I was ten I received my first journal as a gift. I almost didn't want to write a single letter on those creamy white pages for fear of ruining them. I finally put pen to paper and thus began my affair of words.

Writing, not typing has always been my method of choice. Why you may ask? Sure, typing may be much much more time efficient but emotions come out much better through an individuals penmanship. The slants of the letters, the spacing, the use (or over use) of punctuation. There's much more than just words.

At some point my journaling transitioned into much more. I began scrap booking almost, adding snapshots and stickers, movie and concert tickets. I even put the label from the first beer I ever drank on one of the pages. (Boy was that a memorable night!!) They were pages and pages of my favorite memories and secrets in different colored gel pens. I probably had about 20 of them at least, not to mention countless loose pages of random rants and thoughts.

During my junior and senior years of high school, I started really developing my writing style and dedicating as much time as possible to discovering what type of writer I wanted to be. I explored poetry, wrote short stories, outlined book ideas. It was around this time that I started my first online journal. I wrote almost daily about nothing and everything. A young woman trying to find her place in the world. This journal actually wound up getting me in trouble at school. It was private, except for friends. One of my so called friends wound up printing off the pages of my online journal and taking them to my principal. I was quickly called into a meeting with him and the school counselor. What did I say? I used foul language. Oh freaking well right? The principal told me I was ripe for the work of Satan. (I went to a small Christian school) Wow. I was lucky to get out of there without being prayed over or exorcised. They didn't even call my parents. But after that I was constantly getting in trouble for such stupid things. Except skipping school. Somehow they let that slide. Maybe they were glad one of Satan's Spawn was out of their hallways. I still laugh at it to this day.

As much as I despised that school, it was very important in forming the writer I am today. English was my favorite class. My teacher my junior year always had wonderful prompts and exercises and let us students express ourselves however we wanted. I know I was not her favorite student (to this day I do not know what she had against me) but she always graded me objectively, which I am very thankful for. It was very inspiring.

My teacher senior year was absolutely wonderful. She let me do whatever I was inspired to do and gave me nothing but genuine encouragement and constructive criticism. She even turned her head when I skipped class. She always knew I would have the assignments in on time and put forth my best effort. I walked away my senior year with a perfect A in that class. Honestly, that was the only grade that mattered to me. Writing is what I have the most passion for.

I always write from the heart. I put myself out there in every way possible. I let myself be vulnerable and raw in ways I do not do normally.

Actually, I can't say "always". For awhile there I really lost touch. It was not writer's block. I do not know what to call it. I had so many emotions trying to burst out at the same time that I could not come up with one thought. It was a messed up string of consciousness and I just gave up, pushed my thoughts away and got caught up in the humdrum of "wake up, go to work, come home, go to sleep, rinse and repeat".

And I suffered for it.

For the last year I have been trying to get back to where I was. Get my thoughts and life together and regain my purpose as a writer.

This is my attempt at that, getting my thoughts out there. Even if it is a stream of consciousness.

Unfortunately, about five years ago, I destroyed all of my journals. I cannot remember why, nor do I remember what was going on in my life at that time. This is something I wish I had not done. I would love to have a written record of my flowery thoughts as a teen. A memory of when life was so simple and worry free. Thankfully though, I still have those random scraps of paper, napkins, receipts etc that I wrote random thoughts on as well as my writing assignments. I am sure I will post these here and there for the sake of being nostalgic.

For now my restless mind must retire.