My first words were a part of me

For me, It didn't start with words, unlike what most would expect, writing for me never started with a writing but with thoughts, my head was always full as it still is, occasionally my memory could not hold in all the crazy stories I had, and I couldn't remember my quotes and theories I had in the middle of starry nights, I couldn't keep up with what I was creating, I had to put it into reality, so in the mid of my teen years, I started writing here and there, stories, poems, quotes, and drawing inventions that probably will never see the light of day, I was this soul that wanted it all, I wanted to live in my world, but I also wanted to make memories with my family, I wanted my stories to be shared with other people because it felt more right, I wanted my inventions to become real because I was curious whether they would work or not, years later, and I am now in college, still the same, I wanted it all to the point where it started breaking me to pieces, in between insomnia, depression anxiety, hallucinations, the dreams and genius ideas became torturous thoughts playing in loops in unending agony, here I was that genius who started going mad, i never really saw myself as a genius only how others saw me, but I do acknowledge that those ideas did make me go mad, they still do, it turns out trying to understand life, will make life worse, in my small dorm room I set in silent while my head was emerged in this war between surviving the suicidal thoughts and not becoming mad, that's when the emotion started becoming words, I wanted the pain to end, I wanted it out of my chest, so my head started organizing these words in order, like music notes creating a symphony, every sentence had a rhythm, and at times I would not realize what I am writing until the final point, you can say that I was possessed by the same emotions that in other times had paralyzed me, I started writing because I wanted my brain to be a little less loud, and I wanted my madness to make sense, there were moment were my writings felt loud enough to be read by others, but at times they felt as a part of me, too painful and maybe to mush reflecting of my heart that I wanted them to stay hidden, I know I may not a good writer and obviously not the best, but my words are for me like the first baby steps, they are not unique nor are they the last, but they have a unique meaning to the heart and the moment they were written in.