The Art of Drowning

It wasn’t long into the first grade that I had read every book in the classroom. Which I remember because the only choice left was a book of facts on spiders. To my surprise, they turned out to be fascinating creatures. Soon thereafter books became an escape. We didn’t have a lot of children’s literature at home, now that I think about it. Although, now that I think about it my mother never really regarded us as children. However, we were always surrounded with poetry. As a girl, I would scatter her books around the floor. Clearly too young to have any idea what it all meant, yet eager to absorb every word. Poetry held a rhythm that kept me calm. Helped me forget. The childhood that never was. The anger that lived just beneath the surface.

I was probably nine when I picked up Jane Eyre because it was my mother's favorite. Determined and stubborn I managed to finish it. A part of me felt that by the end I would understand her better. Understand why she stayed in bed all day. While it didn't give me the insight I was looking for it gave me something else. A closer look at who I was, who I wanted to be. Someone with the ability to create worlds you could get lost in at a moments notice.

From that day on I read everything put in front of me. I couldn't have been older then ten when I finished Valley of the Dolls. Books became more then an escape, they became a glimpse into lives I was desperate to reach. The words became my guides. My lighthouse if you will, calling me home.They took a girl who came from nothing and transported her to anywhere else. A reminder that the dark places in my mind were not something to be feared, but something to be embraced. Trauma did not have to equal shame. When put it into words that pain could become a source of power.

Writing became a sense of freedom that I had never known. It may sound silly or cliche but I believe it saved me from myself. It opened a door I never knew existed. The further I went into my mind the lighter I felt. Like a weight had been removed. As I grew older, I began to allow men into my life who attempted to drown out my voice, replace my thoughts with their own, and stake their claim on who I was. Too afraid to speak up I put my feelings on paper. The words rushed to the surface. As if I had been drowning and finally found air. Able to breathe again I came to understand why they were so afraid. Over time a clarity and peace resided inside of me. That is when I made a promise to myself, to never be silenced again.