I’ve written this piece at least four times. My initial thoughts were: I write because I want to inspire people (which I love), or because it comes naturally to me (yes it takes work – but it is not forced), or because it makes me feel alive (like I’ve actually accomplished something worthwhile, that’s become a part of who I am). While these are all valid and truthful explanations, I wasn’t convinced that any described the core reason I sit down at my computer to write or jot notes down on any random scrap of paper I can find. These reasons are what I’ve discovered about myself as a result of my writing – not what pushes me to create in the first place.

When I was young, I started writing to give myself peace of mind. Growing up I didn’t have a single journal or diary; I had multiple journals I would write in all at once. Until recently, I’d never had anyone who I could share my thoughts with without being judged. My mind never worked in a conventional way; simply accepting an answer for something has never been an option. As crazy as this sounds, I have always intuitively sensed what people are thinking and I find myself dissecting even the smallest bits of information; wondering what caused any given action to happen and ultimately, what are the potential consequence of making a particular choice. It is exhausting and heartbreaking trying to explain what unconsciously enters my head over and over again only to receive the same confused looks each and every time. Enter the journals. Journals were my best friends. They listened. They let me say whatever was on my mind and in my heart…..and they never judged or made me feel bad about myself.

At any given moment, there can be half a dozen separate thoughts racing though my head. I have an ability to see every possible outcome for any given situation simultaneously. This is a good thing I suppose, although, being stuck inside of my head can sometimes be a very dangerous place. It is very easy for me to let my mind wander, following these thoughts as they take on a life of their own; analyzing each and every option. Not all of these destinations are happy.

It’s only after reading what I’ve written am I able to see how ridiculous the places my mind wanders truly are. Writing brings me back to reality. This way, the not so positive paths my thoughts have traveled down can be used for something other than my own torment, which causes me to second guess aspects of my life I know are a certain. Writing gives these insane and random ideas a home. A place where they can grow and come to life – a spot where they are not hurting anyone. And, if I am lucky, one of these accidental thoughts will turn into a character with a set of circumstances that someone relates to – making the distress I felt as these thoughts raced around my head worthwhile, because they served a purpose. When I write, the insecurities I felt caused by those sometimes negative thoughts are transformed into something constructive; giving someone hope, guidance, and peace.