Since I could hold a pencil, I decided that it would become my way of expressing myself. I was known to be my family’s creative and artistic child, who was always busying themselves with something related to the arts. Growing up with a speech delay, indulging in different creative outlets was my way of speaking. Sometimes, I would get in trouble for doodling all over the walls, but that was before I began writing my stories in notebooks. Once I got a hold of a spiral-bound journal, my words began to take off.
Even as a kid, I was here, writing novellas and character development ideas in my journals. I always had spare notebooks in case I needed them throughout the school year, but I always kept them to write whatever was running through my little head. Sometimes I wrote rambles, like a diary entry or song lyrics I enjoyed, while others were meaningful poetry about how I saw the world. It was an outlet I loved, especially since I had the ability to keep my work private.
Unfortunately, when I was 12, I began a relationship that instantly became toxic. More often than not, I was belittled and told I wasn’t good enough. My passion became something I loathed and my insecurities and thoughts worsened. Comments about my pieces and who I was made me feel incapable. It was a challenging time for me and I didn’t have my usual coping mechanism because I was told it “wasn’t worth wasting my time for nothing.”
After seven long years, shortly after I turned 19, I was able to get out of the toxic relationship. Unfortunately, the consequences were long-lasting. Criticism and insults plagued my mind and brought down my self-esteem, self-image and self-worth. My drive for writing had disappeared as my ex-partner did, leaving me unsure of who I was without this aspect. It was heartbreaking to know that something I put my heart and soul into since childhood had vanished because of someone I once loved. I changed who I was because some horrible person didn’t love me as I deserved to be.
Of course, I completed essays and papers for my classes, but the excitement to write them faded along with my desire to pick up a pen again. I was merely trying to get the task done, rather than enjoying myself like I used to. I had lost myself like I lost my passion, with no visible marks. All the pages went empty, with no motivation left. That was until I joined Her Campus and had a meaningful conversation with my best friend. Who knew that all it took for my passion to resurface was a pep talk with the person I loved the most?
It was a normal conversation before it hit me. We have always had meaningful discussions, especially considering she is the person I trust with my heart the most, but the words she said during this moment were the most impactful. “I’m grateful to have been the person who allowed your heart to heal enough to fall back in love with yourself, but you need to love who you were before he changed you. Your words are your words, and you control the pen and your story. He tried erasing that part of you, but you hold the ink to continue forward.”
That alone inspired me to write about my excellent relationship with her, but I still had words to use. I began to express the trauma I went through for seven years on paper and, soon, in my journals. Finally, all the anger, fear, devastation and agony I went through was being held in a safe place again. Rather than being bitter about what happened and drowning in a depressive episode, this made me realize I had people that loved me for me, and that was enough.
I had only lost one person who never loved me when I have so many people who genuinely do. I know who I am. I am a writer and a survivor. I’m healing and processing what happened to me, but I’ll never let go of what makes me, me again. When I thought I wouldn’t survive, my best friend gave me air and held onto me. She gave me a place in her heart to beat for the both of us. This journey has been bumpy, but that’s recovery. Maybe love didn’t work out for me, but I still have so much love to give, and I instead give it to the people who stood by my side through everything.
Hurting happens, but true love will be a part of me and shared amongst the people that stayed.
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