And so we write…because at a young age, we were told that our problems existed only in our heads. Our issues weren’t something to be discussed out loud. Other kids didn’t have problems, so the fact that we did have an imperfect mind was taboo, something to be ashamed of.
And so we write…because we felt alone. After all this time, we still feel alone. It was never safe to say what was on our brains. So now we are trained to push our feelings away. Pretend those negative thoughts and feelings don’t exist, put on a smile, and show up as if the world inside our heads is sunny and clear.
And so we write…because there’s something wrong with us. We could never be what they wanted or expected us to be. We needed an outlet, otherwise we would have exploded into a massive bomb of tears and feelings. Everyone would have known…and we can’t have others knowing how imperfect our minds are.
And so we write…because we aren’t normal. They see sun, we see pain. They hear music, we hear thoughts of sorrow. They play and laugh, we sit in silence. They always said, “Why can’t you be normal? Why can’t you just be happy, like all the other kids?” Trust me, if I had answers I would have changed twenty years ago. But answers don’t exist. So I write.
And so we write…to hide the darkness that others are so ashamed of. A safe place on paper that the outside world never gave us. A place of freedom, where we don’t have to hide or push away the words of doom. On those blank lines we are free to spill every nasty, dark, gloomy, taboo thought. No one will ever see. No one will ever say, “Stop.”
And so we write…for the child who was never free. We write to be free.