Friday, 16 October 2009
When I write, I become the story. I call it 'method' writing. My thoughts transport me to a place of many and varying themes and emotions. Sadness, laughter, comedy, inspiration, loneliness, isolation and pain. A feeling becomes a story. When I think of sad times; the tears run down my cheeks. When I think of good times; the joy flows, and my fingers type a merry dance upon the keyboard.
Within this man beats the passion of someone who writes for therapy, who writes to make sense of it all, who writes to inspire himself and others. I am but one man, a man who has discovered the power of the written word.
Now, I will immerse myself, take on the sensations that are lingering in the depths of my soul. I sit here and sense my pain. I am sad , I am scared, I am lonely. The bravado I convey to the outside world is nearly shattered. The reality of my isolation comes so very close to battering away the force that is my positive spirit.
I sit here and I cry. I think of a love lost, shattered dreams and ambitions that died a slow and painful death. Why did it have to be this way? Why did I hurt those I care so very much about? The complexities and the self-destructive nature of my past actions have left be bewildered, confused and aching to make things right.
So, I work through what I'm experiencing; as I continue to type away. I know that the tears will subside. I will be cleansed. The healing process, my recovery, remains undaunted by the verbalisation of this moment. For this moment shall pass. I have written this for you and for me to read. I am feeling better.
Today was a lovely day. Autumn is here with its resplendent blaze of coloured leaves. A final splash of glorious colour before the plants and the trees go to sleep for the winter.