How Writing Saved My Life
One day i woke up, slightly hungover, but not enough to keep me horizontal for the day. I had too much adrenaline rushing through me to keep me in bed. I was over whelmed with fear and sadness. What did i do the night before to feel this way? As my heart felt as though it was going to burst out of chest, I thought to myself, “will i ever feel normal again?”
What did i do? How can i make it go away? Did i do this to myself?
As all these questions ran through my head like a coked up basic bitch trying to find her next after party. I realized, indeed i was having a panic attack. Soon i couldn’t feel my heart beating furiously at me anymore, in fact, i couldn’t feel anything anymore. I don’t remember much after this feeling of oh-dear-fuck-im-gonna-die. My knees buckled and i fell onto my bedroom floor. My eyes wide open as i laid on the carpet, staring at my ceiling. Only God knows how long i actually laid there paralyzed and helpless.
Then my phone rang, incoming FaceTime call from my main squeeze. I snapped out of my anxiety coma and reached for my phone, but before i decided to answer i felt my heart clench up again. This was my man calling me to tell me its over, i could smell it from a mile away. I wasn’t ready to take that call. I loved him, i didn’t want this to be the end. If anyone knows what real, true, upside down, inside out, lick every crevice of my body-even-though-i-haven’t-showered-in-days love is, this was it.
I didn’t pick up. He called twice more after that. And then i realized, i needed to be the adult that i pretended to be and pick up the god damn phone.
The conversation didn’t go well. It was exactly how i predicted it to be. And whats worse was that it was FaceTime — I didn’t want to see his expression of pain, disappointment and disgust. I hated seeing this side of him, and i hated that i caused it. Without going too much into detail, this was the beginning of a new life for me.
I fell into a deep depression. I felt pain i never felt before. Not only was my relationship over, i couldn’t find anything in this world that made me feel alive again. I have felt this shame before. But at the age of 30, i felt a whole new low. I couldn’t see any damn light at any damn end of the tunnel.
I isolated myself from everyone for weeks into months. Not to mention, i worked in a nightclub on the weekends. I had no choice but to face all those happy people out there. Talk about torture — turning that frown upside down for all the happy drunk people enjoying their time dancing the night away. After work, i would walk home and cry. When i got home, i would just cry to myself in my lonely one bedroom condo. What has my life come to? After years of separation from my family, I have come accustom to having no one but me to lean on. But at this moment, i wasn’t strong enough.
I finally decided to go talk to my doctor for some advice. She prescribed me some anti-depressants and sleeping pills. I never took the anti-depressants — But the sleeping pills, the fricken sleeping pills are something-special-sexy-wonderful.
Finally after what it seemed like years of no sleep, i found the zzz’s again. I slowly started to come to my senses and feel alive again. This was a time for me to really reflect on WHO I REALLY AM. I deleted all social media as it made me feel worse after using it. I always found myself comparing myself to everyone around the world. What has life come to these days? Viewing profiles, liking pictures, rating people, retweeting, gaining followers, losing followers, why should i give a shit? Why should i feel some sort of validation for everything i do or am online?
I really took this time to do some maintenance work on me. Society has given this idea of how life should be lived. Go to school, get a job, get married, have kids, and live the good life. This life has never ever appealed to me. I’ve graduated school 3x now. I have tried the whole corporate career thing, it’s just really not for me. I almost slit my wrists in the staff bathroom on my lunch break last time i worked a 9–5. I’ve chosen to continue my nightlife job out of the sake of my own good will. I choose to work minimum hours for skies-the-limit money. And I have always backed myself up with saying, “i have my weekdays to do whatever the hell it is i like to do.” Well fuck, I actually started doing just that — a project that required me and only me. I dipped into my creative shadow that has always lingered around me. And holy shit, the anxiety slowly disappeared, and eventually along with the depression. I started writing, creating, building things out of broken glass, anything that required me to tap into my creativity — soothed me.
I have never been brave enough to tackle this passion. I have always been a fan of the arts but being a creator of the arts has scared the living shit out of me. I’ve always thought about creating, but fear got the best of me – until i had nothing left but fear to face. At my lowest of lows, i thought to myself, its worth a shot, i really have nothing to lose.
And to this day, i write, i create whatever the hell i feel like at that moment. I may not be writing for a big publisher, or creating the next big thang but i am not creating for anyone but me, and i think this is so important to remember for anyone out there who can relate to this. I started doing things for me. I started doing the things that scared me, the things that I always thought I wasn’t good enough to do. Life can go by day-by-day and you can unconsciously be living for somebody else, and feel so fucking empty at the end of the day. Life is short. Forget about looking stupid. Forget about what people are going to think. Start doing things for you and finding the pleasures in those things. This life is for you, and only you. At the end of the day it’s you, so do the things you want to fucking do.
This is how writing saved my life.