I started writing in high school and one of my poems (a Haiku; which was an exercise in English Class) was published in the school’s magazine, and this encouraged me to continue putting my feelings, thoughts and emotions on paper. I only shared my poetry with my best friends and even up until recently, only those really close to me know that I express myself in this way.
During my darkest period is when my poetry took on a life of its own. My writing changed, what I wrote about changed, how I saw my life and the world changed. All this became clear to me as I wrote myself to life on the pages of a journal where in reality I was dying. I held on to myself, my dreams, my soul and my God through my poetry. After every experience and to make sense of every emotion, I wrote. It was through my poetry that I expressed emotion; when in reality I used drugs to suppress them.
I never in my wildest dreams thought about sharing any of my poetry with anyone. I write for myself; to understand myself, to get to know myself, to continuously remind myself of why I am and who I am. I write because most of the time, the words are so deep within me that I struggle to verbalise them, they come out on paper before they can make sense coming from my mouth.
My writing has always been a part of me and I never realised how much this part has contributed to my healing, until now. Through my rebellion, through my depression, through my anger, and now through my reflection, my writing has restored my relationship with myself and with my God.