I thought it would be easy, but it was excruciating. I tried to not write but the condensation from the day's activities created a mind that was stressed and frugal with optimism. I couldn't do anything else but write. To myself, telling stories, to God...everything.
I had to write, because it was from my need to become healthy. I needed to write until my life ceases to exist, because it was the only way I can live. I didn't know any other way. I always wrote my heart out and it evolved from therapy to life, from emotional cushion to transformative healing, from gaining confidence to soul esteem.
I won't be able to live any longer if I was never allowed to write. It was my soul's expressions and my heart. One could say I was all heart and irrationality, but truly, would you want me to write about everything that was sane and constricting? Let the crazies out!
Writing is life and I write not because I wanted to document anything, but for the delight of my soul for the purpose of my life. I was to write stories, and I knew it since birth.
I fumbled along the way, and I fell utterly bitter to the ground that my conscience tragically felt shamed as the skin on my body felt uncomfortable and sick. I realized that I had to write it out. Everything, from the depth of my soul.
I write because I was meant to, and it was a calling, forever. I followed it because my soul craved it since I was in the womb. Just write.