Jessie

A few or many years ago, when i was only about thirteen, I discovered my love for writing. I had just gotten a journal for Christmas, a s****y little thing with one of those delicate locks with about the same protective power as a restraining order. I remember shutting myself into the bathroom and sitting in the tub, a blanket wrapped around me to help fight off the cold. I can't recall what I wrote about, and I wouldn't doubt that it was an unintelligble mess, but i do remember the feeling.

I get that same feeling now, all these years later. A tingle in my fingertips, a little light headedness when i finish a line. My writing helps me get lost in my own memories, only when the memories emerge in my writings, I can't feel the pain they can sometimes carry. I've found that then I can use them, instead of them using me.

I think writing is the best therapy, for me at least.