Through the Darkness, We Write

I’m overwhelmed by a strange feeling, an emotion I can't quite describe, one that makes the world fade away. It's as if, suddenly, everything else stops mattering and only one thing occupies my mind: writing. Why do I feel this? What is it that drives me? I HAVE TO GET IT OUT. The words begin to flow, without me calling them. My hands start moving, and without thinking too much, I begin to write.

Who’s guiding me? Something, someone? takes over and starts flowing without resistance. I don’t fight my thoughts. The mind calms, the inner storm ceases for a moment. What great power this is. I haven’t seen it before, I haven’t understood it.

But how did I get here? Why now? I’ve always been so hard on myself, always so demanding. And doing something just for the pleasure of doing it… it wasn’t the right thing to do. Why wasn’t it? Maybe because I never had time for fun? Because there was always something more important to do, something urgent to resolve? I remember that my childhood… my childhood slipped away.

And here I am now, wondering how I became who I am, how I shaped myself under the weight of what I had to live through. And why do I always feel like nobody understands me? As if my pain is so deep, so exclusive, that no one could even begin to understand it. But… wait, isn’t this the case for everyone? Don’t we all grow up with some battle, some scar, something that marks us? Maybe I’m not so different…

I don’t think I’m special. I’m human. And life, like everything in this world, has its light and its dark. We all face unique pain, our personal battles that feel like no one else could possibly understand. There are moments when it feels like nothing makes sense, when everything falls apart, and the darkness seems to take over. In those times, it’s so easy to believe there’s no way out, to feel consumed by sorrow. But if we open ourselves to others, we realize that we’re not alone in our struggles. Everyone is fighting their own battle. And somehow, even when everything feels impossible, we find a way to keep going. We hold on to something, anything, because there is always a glimmer of light that shows up—sometimes only after time, and with the distance of perspective, but it comes. The clarity, the peace, always arrives

I wouldn’t be who I am today without everything I’ve lived through. And you know what? I love myself. Because every piece of my being, every corner of my soul, has been formed by all of those experiences, even the painful ones. How could I not love myself? If I’ve been to rebuild myself, over and over again.

Writing… writing has allowed me to find myself. To let go of everything that holds me back, everything that hurts me. Writing is my refuge, my truth. As long as the words keep flowing, as long as I can express myself, no matter how uncertain life may be, I will always find my way. One step at a time. And yes, maybe I don’t have all the answers, but I know that there’s something inside me, something I can trust: my ability to create, to heal through what I can put on paper.

With every word, with every sentence, I find myself a little more. And even though the future is still uncertain, I’ll keep writing. Because in this act, in this liberation, I find a small glimmer of hope.