Eight weeks ago, I took a leave of absence from work. My mind had become a toxic plane of brittled confidence, heavy depression, and debilitating anxiety. I was overwhelmed and overworked, a condition I’ve both lived with and was pushed to by the job I was at. It was like I was holding my breath to survive in a world without oxygen. Pained and dizzy and with my lungs at their limit, I knew I was in trouble because I’ve been here before.
So I hit pause, and I began to write. Everything and anything, though often nothing. I want to create beauty from pain, even if that pain gets in the way now and again. I will write of hope, and love. Love so pure that we begin to believe in accepting ourselves. At least, this is what I will aspire to. I will dream of a day when my character sketches, scene descriptions, and moments of tenderness come together to form a book that can be touched by both the hand and heart of readers who need it.
For now, I’ll hold tightly to this dream and the feeling that writing brings me. It’s teaching me to breathe again, as if the pages are my oxygen.
Finding the Shadow 