I sit here with a blank page in front of me, trying to give shape to my thoughts. They come and go so fast that I’m able to catch only pieces. These pieces don’t always make sense to me, but I still try to understand them.
Before any word falls on a paper, I am forced to pay attention to what I’m thinking. This allows me to discover new things about myself. By writing down my thoughts I express the inner parts of my mind and bring into the light what I find there. Every piece that I uncover becomes part of me once again.
My being is made up of many parts, and some of them got lost inside the dark corners of my mind. Through writing, I am able to explore these corners that I’ve been trying to keep hidden, without being afraid.
When my fears turn into words on paper, they no longer hold any power over me. I can, now, analyze the reasons I was afraid. I can look at my fear from different angles, and see it for what it is, a protection mechanism.
All that I’m keeping hidden will have to come into the light for me to become complete once again. It is important that I accept all that I find in the dark as being my own. Every thought that got isolated has become a dead end inside the mind. It got isolated because I was not able to understand what it was trying to tell me.
I write to avoid letting my thoughts be unseen or misunderstood, but I’ve been avoiding writing lately. I have been telling myself that I don’t write because I have no time for it, but I don’t really know why I don’t do it.
Maybe I run from it because it always brings out my deepest thoughts, and, some of them, I don’t want to come out. I have been afraid to face how I feel about staying away from the page. In truth, my writing is the only thing that feels only mine, that no one can take away from me.
I am grateful for every word that reaches the page, but, at times, it becomes difficult to face all that my mind comes up with. There are so many stories I tell myself, that have nothing to do with reality, but I’ve told the so many times that I believe them to be true.
When I lay them on paper, I can see them for what they are, creations of my own mind. This frightens me because some of these stories are at the base of the person I believe to be. There is always a good part in writing them out, thus I can get rid of what is no longer true and evolve.
Evolving must always be the purpose, and it must be clear to everyone that evolution requires something to be given up. To know what is no longer useful, and needs to be given up, I will always rely on my writing.
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