Lately, I have been depressed. I thought writing – something I have loved all my life – is my curse. I thought I hurt people with my words, I thought I create distance between myself and those that I love.
I was wrong.
Writing is without doubt the greatest gift of my existence. I have seen the power my words have. I have seen it inspire so many people, change their lives with the principles I believe in. I have seen it transform into something bigger than all of us. I have seen it make and roar.
I was a fool to even hate myself – for being a writer, for being a lover of words. How could I doubt something that I spent my whole life fighting for? I admit I was way too over my head. There was so many things bothering me that I started to turn on my writing and detest it. I thought maybe because of my words, I was tearing people apart. I was making people feel bad about themselves just because they hurt me. And for that, I hate myself. I relied too much on my words to speak the truth even when written harshly. I’ll never forgive myself for doing that.
That’s why right now, I am trying to get back on my feet and be that old girl who writes just for the sake of writing. I have forgotten the reason why I am doing this and now I think I can start again.
I was the girl who loved living. I reveled in the joy of being alive. And it’s from that exhilaration that I get my enthusiasm and ardor to write beautiful things. I was the girl who fell in love, too. And I used my words to confess to him. My love is powerful, selfless, and true in all its form that’s why I was able to write many prose and poetry that only speak about him. Those were the days that I was happy writing. I was alive and very much in love.
It’s just that maybe the world took its toll on me. I’ve been too exposed to so much bad that I began to forget everything that made things beautiful and worth writing about.
But now, things have changed.
I’m back to my usual old self. I have learned to appreciate life again. I’m beginning to rediscover the amazing hues of sunrise and sunset, or the lulling patter of the rain. I’m beginning to realize the power of the sea and the mystery of the moon in the night sky. Indeed, I am back. The love I once felt then has been renewed, stronger. I still love the man who gave me a new reason to write. And, miraculously, he still loves me, too.
So there it goes. Life, love, and writing are what makes up my entire being. I have always been meant to write and I wouldn’t let anything change that.
I will live to love and write. I will love to live and write. I will write to live and love.