Why Writing?

In my younger years, I was taking care of myself and the babysitter's kids.  Lots of responsibility for a child. I had more responsibility than most children. I remember practicing my driving skills in the parking lot of the bowling alley when I was 13, I knew I'd have to drive home. In my teenage years, I was mostly alone. I had my brother, but we weren't close until we got much older. I spent most days in front of the mirror doing my hair and listening to music. I specifically remember driving my brother insane with Nicki Minaj's Pink Friday album.  I did my nails too. I painted and created lots of art.

Then around 14 I got a phone, social media popped, and via social media met my first "serious" boyfriend. I had a small friend group that stuck with me from elementary school.  I was bullied about how deep my voice was - which is so funny looking back. You know how girls go through puberty and their voice gets deeper, and strays away from that little girl high high-pitched voice? Mine did the opposite. It got less deep. My mom's side of the family always told me I sounded like Janice Joplin. 

I've always been so weird with people. I wasn't always able to hold a normal conversation - it's like my mind was always empty and couldn't ever think of anything to say. It always caused me issues. People thought I was rude. I've always felt so bad because I wasn't aware then why I was like that, and I couldn't do anything about it. I had to make going to the hospital happen on my own - let alone saying hey dad, I think something's wrong with me because words don't come out of my mouth. 

I guess writing just comes naturally. I'm alone, I don't have to speak. There is no pressure. Just my mind, spirit, and the words. 

I always enjoyed writing essays in school too. I wasn't always great at it, but I enjoyed it. 

I read this book once, called The Subtle Art of Not Giving A F*ck. The asterisk is in the title. Something the book taught me was that my problems are not special, and they certainly don't make me special. I do not write to be pitiable. I write because my words were never heard. Writing pours out of me and I hope someone can read my material and relate. I write to be a voice for someone or pull your voice from the back of your mind to the forefront. 

Everyone has battles, no greater or worse than the other. I am simply choosing a different path. My path. A path that is barren of drugs or alcohol. A path that is colorful with honesty and positivity. Outlined with boundaries and compassion. 

This life handed me a stained, shredded, beat up deck of cards too. I just chose to fight every day, even when looking in my life didn't look like I was fighting. I fought for a steamed, colorful, and yes, a little ridged set of cards. Because I'm not perfect - and my battles make who I am. Just like the cards I've played with are textured and are no longer perfect. 

I choose to fight every day. Not for the absence of my parent's qualities, because DNA cannot be changed. But for what I crave in this life. What I want for my kids in this life. A life where shoes are optional, and our house is filled with dead colorful flowers because the story behind them makes them unbearable to get rid of.  A life where my path is no longer a path.  The path had transformed into a home in the middle with trails we had created all around it. 

Choices big or small, make you and your life. Choose with trust. Choose with intent. Choose with love. 

Speak. Communicate. Connect. 

xoxo