When I’m feeling confused, lonely, hurt or just plain wrong, I write. It’s
what I turn to for therapy when conventional therapy is not what I’m looking
for. I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember – I still own journals I
kept as a ten year old, travel diaries, long winded rants and your
stock-standard awful poetry from that phase all “troubled teens” with access to
enough paper and pens. They’re not all good (reflecting on some of my long-lost
and desperately-in-need-of-forgetting pieces, one might even go as far as to
call them awful) but if you want to know about me, your safest bet is to raid
my archives. There is something innate in writing that just captures me, a sort
of poetry in language that I can’t ever quite vocalise but have always been
enchanted by.
That’s why I’m writing today. It’s an introduction, per se, because I
feel like lately I’ve had a lot of things to say and very few places to
actually say them.
This year started as a
little bit turbulent, if anything, but in recent months it’s taken some pretty
weird turns and it’s getting harder and harder to cope without a proper outlet.
I haven’t written anything in quite a long time and I’ve noticed that there’s a
direct correlation between how I’m feeling and how little I’ve been writing.
You’re most likely going to have to get accustomed to seeing my name bobbing
about now and then as I flounder around, so I’d like to say something about who
I am and where I am at.
I’m sixteen, prone to your typical teenage behaviour (see: mood swings,
erratic hormonal behaviour, a fair dose of melodrama, and the tendency to rant
and rave uncontrollably should something seize me). I’ve got a strange history
with mental health, and health in general: I’ve always been classed as “sickly”,
despite my obvious effervescence and sparkling personality (I’m also known to
use sarcasm as a coping mechanism in most situations).
This year has seen a bit
of a black cloud creep over me, and there is absolutely nothing I can link it
to. The over-analysis part of my problem can fairly conclusively tell you that.
Most of the time, I’m okay. Sometimes, as with everyone, I’m not and I don’t
really know what to do about that. Like most people on here, I’m just trying to
feel good and trying to get things to stick.
That’s where I’m at right now. If
I start posting like a mad woman trying to make sense of her life, when reality
I’m just being an over-dramatic teenage girl in a (comparatively) mildly
inconvenient situation. I’d like to apologise in advance.
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