Writing Therapy
I finished writing the story in April. It was a good feeling, the kind you get when you finish your homework early. I was the type who used to be crossing the finish line as the bell rang. The reality was that this felt like a homework assignment that I wanted to do; it didn’t have a due date, or a grade for that matter. Instead of the feeling of success for just finishing, it was for the work itself.
I still wasn’t considering becoming a writer but I did want to write again. It wasn’t that I never wrote before-just different. Since the sixth grade I have been writing a journal. Every year I have done an end of the year entry talking about the events of that year and then I would write down some thoughts, goals, or wishes for the year on the horizon. Periodically I would write something during the course of the year. There was one year that was an exception to that standard.
It was 2015. In February of that year, I was diagnosed with large cell type B non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. I was extremely lucky because it was discovered in a very early stage and was treated successfully. There will be more on that story at another time. For now, the point is that it drove me to writing in my journal; every day for over a year. It captured everything that was going on inside my head. It also documented a story or guidebook for me to follow for the rest of my days-however many that may be. Those words were written by me and for my eyes only. Later on, I would have the realization that those words were written FOR me. There was no plan for an audience, book, blog, or publishing company; just me. Those words continue to bring me peace.
Now that the manuscript was complete, I was experiencing a different kind of comfort. The feeling caught me off guard because I wasn’t familiar with its characteristics. I am much more familiar with a consistent level of anxiety that can be escalated quickly when it has to deal with the barrage of all kinds of thoughts that are running through my head at any given time. To help with matters, in my early forties I was diagnosed with ADD. Yes, you can have ADD as an adult. I was shocked when I learned of all of the things that ADD can have an effect on. It’s not just about the inability to focus, it is so much more. The diagnosis did help me understand a lot about certain things I was dealing with throughout my life. There are some medications and treatments that can help with controlling its impact on you, but I found out that none of them work for me as well as writing.
After spending some time contemplating my feelings, (a nicer way of saying I was thinking a lot), I believe I figured out how the writing was helping me so much. As I would write, my brain would be pulling all my thoughts together to focus on one thing-the story. As I would type the story into my computer, the thoughts would be clearing my head as fast as I could type. With the energy that it took to do a writing session I would be completely drained by the time I was finished. That left me with no energy for anything else; including anxiety. How comforting that was.
It didn’t seem to bother me if I thought the material that I was writing was good or bad, it was just for me anyway. I was becoming more and more motivated to write; not for recognition but for my sanity. I started to laugh at myself because after accepting this I was bombarded by a tremendous number of ideas for more stories to write. I still wasn’t thinking about becoming an author yet. First, I was too focused on what would be my next story to work on, and secondly, I had no concept if anyone would like the stories I would write. At that point, I was the only critic that mattered and that was fine with me.
