Cutting it close.

My teacher, Professor Norris, told my class one day that creativity always seems to strike in the wee hours of the morning. For me, it is one of those mornings. But I would not be writing this if I had not read a story from Chicken Soup for the Soul: Tough Times for Teens. It was about a girl who used to suffer from depression, and the only thing that ever made her feel like she was a good person was putting everyone else and their needs before herself. So she would cut herself to try to cut the frustration out of her life. Somewhere along the way, she began to write, which ultimately saved her. Another part of her recovery was meeting a boy who she started going out with, and who didn't judge her for her scars. Instead, he helped her see that her generosity was a good thing, but helped her practice saying "no" and to not feel bad when she couldn't help people through their problems. They ended up breaking it off, but she continued to write like crazy, and she never went back to cutting again. It really struck a chord with me, because had I not started writing my seventh grade year, I might have suffered the same fate.

It's hard for me to imagine cutting myself. I don't think I could bring harm to my body like that. But I have felt depressed enough to where I'd start warming up to the idea, imagining what it would be like... how the blade would feel against my skin. Relief. Those kinds of thoughts were scary to have when I'd snap out of it and realize what I was thinking about doing. I even thought a couple times, I have a blade I can use. But somehow, I'd be able to shy away from it; to tell myself no. I'd write instead. Writing was relief. It didn't always fix my problems, but it told people what I was going through and how I was feeling. I didn't feel as though I was crying out for help, but rather, that I was telling people my story.

I don't consider my life tragic enough to resort to smoking, drug use, or drinking. There are people out there who suffer far worse than I do. My life, when I think about it, is pretty sweet. I've had a poem published, dived into theatre with very little experience at all, received my license, and I've finally been recognized instead of being the invisible girl. This has happened over the course of an entire year, and I love how things are turning out for me. But there are conflicting thoughts and emotions that I shove to the back of my head. They aren't important enough to pay attention to when I have a million other things on my mind, but there are those rare times where I have nothing to do, so I start to think. Thinking always causes things to resurface, and a million voices talk at once, all wanting me to hear them. Those are the times  when I begin to sink. I can feel myself going down, down, and still further down, until depression cuddles up to me and starts whispering things in my ears. But I always fight it. I fight it hard, no matter how horrible I feel.

I've heard it said that writing is the best mind trip, and I consider that to be truer than truth can be. No matter how I'm feeling, what I'm thinking, or what I'm doing, I know that I can always write out what's bothering me. I write poems, the occasional short stories, and song lyrics every now and then just to clear my mind of its negativity. It's how I deal with people and with myself, and like I said, if I had not started writing in 7th grade, I might not be in a very good place right now. Who knows? I could be smoking, cutting, or starving myself. I could be invisible to everyone, sitting alone and letting vicious thoughts attack me. I could be in rehab or medicated. There's an endless amount of possibilities. But... God, to write... it's the most comforting thing. Letters. Words. Punctuation and grammar. Spelling. Imagination. Passion. Emotions running wild, just waiting to be felt. A voice waiting to be heard. A blank page just waiting to be written on. I love it so much.

I think the reason why I haven't minded being single my entire life, or why I haven't minded missing out on all the normal shit that teenagers do (such as partying, drinking, etc.), is because I know there's something that is better than that; something that is always going to aid me when I'm feeling down; something to break my fall. I don't think I ever hit rock bottom without words there to cushion me, and I'm thankful for that. Writing makes this life worth living. The people may come and go. The opportunities may pass by. The right moment may never come. But no matter what, I know that there will always be someone reading my story, and that is enough for this heart to continue beating.

As long as there's a good book to read, a plate of fresh cookies to eat on a bad day, a warm bed waiting to be slept on, a family to love you, and someone there to love, life isn't so bad.