Writers are full of eccentricities. Most of them are over-sensitive and highly emotional. There are also some who are super quiet in the outside but are so loud in their thoughts. I am all of them.
I started writing at the age of ten. The same age when I was at a loss for words on what’s happening in my family. I didn’t know how to express myself out loud. So unlike me for I am known as a talkative person. Someone who even excels in oratorical competitions. I found comfort and freedom with a pen and paper.
Since then, writing became my defense mechanism. When I have to shut myself from the world, I write. But writing also drove me to the edge. I learned that writing is a form of catharsis but sometimes catharsis doesn’t do me good. And during these times, demons fill my head. I want to give up.
The last time it happened was early this year. Suddenly losing your job. Problems at home. Stress. All of them happening at once.
I know things will be fine but I’m too tired to fight. I thought, how should I end everything? I thought, I shouldn’t do something that will make me ugly in the end. I also don’t want to feel any pain at my last few seconds. So how should I end it?
Thankfully, my friends are there… I didn’t have to think of the answers.
It was a hard struggle. Sometimes, I still experience it and I pray hard not to give in.
So I write.