Write, write, write I go.

Someone’s wife. someone’s mother. someone’s employee. once was a joyful, creative soul. I used to sing. Dance freely to my own beat. I used to smile a gleaming smile so bright that I’ve been told my presence makes people feel positive. I would write, write and write. In journals, social media pages, in letters to loved ones. Now I’ve realized that I’ve lost myself to being someone’s “Somebody” and everyone’s “someone”.

That one person that people can rely on, to vent to, to cry on. Where did I go when I needed that cry, that vent, that reliability? No where. I’d hide inside myself. How is that right? Its not. Especially when you’ve been drowing in that sea of dispairty for so long.

Here it is now, back to another space. Cheerful on the outside to the masses, but lost within myself without any direction or answers. Write, write, write I go. Hopefully this is the outlet I need to find my way out of a dark hole.