Dragged back out again

You ever feel like just writing? Just going blah blah blah blah to get something out of your head and into the world where you can face it and deal with it and have done with it once and for all? Not worrying about spelling or grammar or sentence structure, or who’s going to read it or what they will think of it or anything like that?

And in feeling like this, you come up with a dozen different pieces to write that frame the problem as you see it, but when you go to start writing and you see the letters forming into words forming into sentences you think, this isn’t how I saw the problem. Why are my fingers typing different thoughts than what I’m thinking?

It’s not a secret. Writing is my therapist. If I don’t write, I go crazy. The thoughts build up. The pressure mounts. My brain literally feels like it’s buzzing with a million insects trying to get out. And when I’m faced with something I can’t face, all I want to do is write. Hide under the blankets, lock myself in my room, hit the road by myself, just to get away and be alone with my writing, my therapist. Because here, in this space that is me and a blank page and a pen or a keyboard, I work it out.

I start off angry and dejected, troubled and confused. And I spill it all like I could never do with a human therapist. I spill it and it runs all over the page and I let the words go and see where they take me. My fingers can’t keep up with the pace of the crazy that is escaping from my brain. I can’t form sentences fast enough to create proper thoughts. Everything just piles out chaotically. There is no order to the exodus. There is no sense to the emotions that come hot and painful as my fingers race across the keyboard. The tidal wave swallows the initial thoughts and intentions I had of writing about one thing or another in a calm, organized sense. My plans to work it out on paper are captured in the rush of thoughts and emotions that come barreling out of my head like so many ocean waves battering the rocks. They tumble and swirl in the dark, airless space, hitting the rocks and being dragged back out again in another rush of emotion.

And then a calm. A space devoid of anything. I literally feel empty. Drained of the emotion. Fingers aching from the effort of purging my mind. Perhaps better able to assess from whence I came. Definitely in a more positive place. Almost forgetting what brought me here in the first place.

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8 thoughts on “Dragged back out again

  1. memyselfandkids.com

    Writing therapy – certainly more reasonable than a therapist.
    Writing can be theraputic for me as well. I often find that the piece does not come out sounding as I imagined. Someitmes, it is harder and other times softer. The tone changes.
    It’s cool that the writing provides you with that sense of relief.

    Reply
    1. Nancy Post author

      I’ve heard a lot of people say that what they are writing doesn’t come out as they thought it would. Isn’t that strange how that happens? It’s almost as if there is someone else in our heads as we are writing.

      Reply

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