I speak in alliterations and analogies. I bullet point my “points” in conversation.
Every conversation leads to an article someone else wrote or an article I should be writing. Every painful thought morphs into words on tear-soaked pages.
Writing helps me process. It helps me think. I am different because of it. I am me because of it.
Writing isn’t a hobby. It more than gives me purpose. It gives me life. To stop writing would be to stop living. The barriers of my mind would forever enslave my thoughts.
My heart would begin to beat differently, holding onto pain longer than it should. The crisp, clean pages of my journal would beg to be covered in frustrations buried deep within my soul.
Writing drives me crazy. I want to quit daily. I get tired of pouring my heart and soul into work rarely acknowledged. While I appreciate any opportunity to share my message with others, I barter a piece of my soul every time I hand over my work for free. Those words are not just words. They are a part of me. Hearing they have no monetary value makes me question my value as a human being.
Every time I question why I am even doing this God reminds me that I cannot quit. Even if I wanted to. My crazy paradox world of love and hate, chaos and calm is a part of who I am. It would be easier to quit than to press through the doubts and fears, but I can’t quit.
Writing revealed the person God created me to be. Word by word, I peeled back of the layers of the life I thought I wanted and exchanged them for the life I never knew I could have. I can’t stop writing.
To give up on writing would be to give up on myself.
I long for the day when writing is my one and only. For now, I spend most of my waking hours with the mistress of financial security. She makes me feel safe. In her, my needs are met but my soul is stifled. 40 hours a week, I gaze into her eyes wondering if my future could be staring back at me.
I beg and plead with God to free me from this necessary evil. I beg Him to let me run into the arms of my one true love.
So I must keep fighting… for myself, my life, and my love.
About Amanda: I write better than I speak. I have a weird obsession with my thesaurus. Writing is the part of me I didn’t know I was missing until I found it. Now, I can’t imagine a world where I don’t think in analogies and acronyms.