A number of people have reached out to me to ask why I stopped writing. My response has been the same “writers block” and I believed this each time I said it as I went about my daily life.
From my last post till now, it is safe to say my life has been eventful. A job change, a promotion, an anniversary and one year post medication, I can safely say that the journey has been kind to me.
Well I’ve had my fair share of drama but these days, I seem to find a way to manage the unpredictable nature of life. For one, giving myself a breather from social media on a daily has helped my mental faculty more than I care to admit. Prioritizing sleep is also another therapy I’ve found to be really helpful.
My threshold for stress has greatly dwindledne – one gift pack a mental breakdown leaves behind, a sure receipt for a totally new life pattern.
The old me seems almost like a dream and sometimes I catch myself remembering the crazy stunts I pulled even as a teenager – Lord knows I can’t find the guts to try them now! My memory betrays me too, sometimes when I think of something as little as what I wore the day before.
It has been almost four years and it does get better. The only thing that can deter anyone will be holding on to what could have been.
To answer the question of why I stopped writing, I have come to the realization that writing helped me heal. Pouring out my heart and my mind was a therapy. It was somewhat one of my deepest fears that I had to face. Anyone who knew me prior to the incidence can testify of how private I was – the least expressive person in the room lol (I think). Bottling up emotions for those years is something I’m finding out to be one of the triggers.
Writing gave me a way to let it all go and so I did.