The Gift of Writing

Several years ago I was directed by a therapist to keep a diary. It was not on the agenda to discuss--rather an order to be obeyed. I complied as I was broken and bruised from years drowned in the abyss of addiction. I resented the instructions but began my relationship with writing.

In the early entries the pages were filled with the ravings of a lunatic but as I settled into this new regime, subtle changes occured. A picture emerged of the true me. The years of supressed emotions and enforced silence found a voice. The voice which had been mute for eternity, found a haven, to express and release pent up energy.

For the first time in my life I could freely express how I felt. The ink from my pen described what it was like to walk in my shoes. My fears, dreams and hopes jumped from the pages, demanding to become reality. The pen became a weapon to fight the demons in my head.

The nightly ritual of filling my diary continued for six months. The therapist issued her next instruction to read my diary and pen my feelings on the revealations found. A rebel at heart , I craved to defy her but logic prevailed.

Perusing the tattered journal resulted in the creation of new horizons. The regime of keeping the diary had exposed the real me hidden behind the facade of addiction and any other label that would help me remain incognito.

The real me was just a small child unable to cope with life, *on life's terms*. For decades, any situation that allowed *an opt out clause* I choose it. The real me was unable to voice my feelings but on paper I could describe with clarity, the emotions that bubbled from my heart and the never ending thought that infiltrated my mind.

The rage and anger that oozed from the written word ,no longer lived in my heart. The perceived hurts and injustices no longer appeared to have power. The hopes and dreams which had extinguished had regained a spark. The failures and losses faded and were replaced by strength and determination.

The pages reflected a human being who had struggled to overcome many obstacles and after every fall had the courage of heart to start all over again. The journal revealed a character with great empathy for her fellow man and a genorousity and kindness for all living creatures.

Without the gift of writing, I would have been lost forever. I would have never seen the true good person that I am and can be. Writing saved my life and for that I am forever grateful. To Claire my therapist, I will forever be in your debt. Thank you,