Words

Somewhere inside of my brain is a combination of words that express what I feel when I say I am confused, heartbroken, anxious, scared, or depressed. For me, writing is the endless search for that combination. My fuel is my life experience and the literature I consume.

As young as I am, I am not as young as I once was and the years are starting to weigh me down. To lighten this load, I must first understand what it is I need to lighten. A burden is not something that should be hastily removed. Some burdens are worth carrying and others are worth shedding. The difficulty lies in deciding which is which.

Words allow me to express how and why I feel weighed down. Most of the time, the burdens I reveal with my words dissapear with their elucidation. I like that. No, I love that. I regularly strip myself down to just the burdens that are the result of a lifetime of anguish. I love those burdens, I carry them with pride because I know I can live a good life even with them being so heavy.

This process is ongoing, it will never be completed. I will accrue burdens that cannot be shed, traumas that cannot be defined, and pains that cannot be cured. Despite that, I will survive because words will allow me to achieve solidarity with myself.