January 7, 2015

Writing & All That Comes With It

I love writing. Those close to me know how much I enjoy it, and in fact even need to do it. But I can't do it all the time. In order for me to write, in essence, I have to be called to do it. When I feel, I feel deeply. My writing is an outlet for those emotions that are so strong that to contain them would surely be to hurt myself. It is a release and it drains me emotionally to do it. Which is why I only do it every so often, I suppose.

I have thought about asking to be put on prozac or some such but the problem with those medications is that they take away ALL of my emotions. The sadistic side of me loves feeling the emotion, of having to let it out by writing. I like drowning in myself for a short time and making something that I can look back on later and be amazed that *I* wrote it.

I wish that I could write more often than I do, but when the school semester starts, I become entrenched in my school work. Everything else falls to the side. And by everything, I mean EVERYTHING. l can't seem to help it. And then, when the semester is over, it all comes flooding back and the need to see my friends, be with my loved ones overwhelms me and I curl up into a ball because the longing is so bad. Hence the flurry of writing all at once. It's that I don't constantly miss them, it's just that I'm preoccupied. Whenever I get a message from my friends or companions, I try to respond, to show that I'm still here. I appreciate the nudges because sometimes I am so absentminded I'd lose my head if it weren't attached.

Sometimes I get requests to write. I love that it's requested because it shows that people like what I write. It's just... well, it's difficult. Because I have to dig into that ether where my emotions reside and allow myself to slip into it, to be lost for a while before I come back down to see what I've written. I will write again, I promise. I just am not ever sure when I'll get hit in the stomach by my muse.

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