Writing will be my life.

Short rapid breaths, erupting from my deep sleep, eyes open wide, mind racing about what has happened. I rush to find my little black notebook, I keep it with me for emergencies; like this one. The weight of the notebook in my shaky hands almost immediately calms my breathing. The blank paper waiting for my words slows my anxiety ridden thoughts. I have never been good at writing or reading cursive but these pages beg for new things everyday. I have so many Moleskine notebooks, each one with its own purpose. I spent hours with each one, pen and pencil; practicing everyday. They are beautiful, professional, filled with scribbles of my own creations; dreams mostly.

As I fill the page entirely I glance up to my window, staring at the view from my dark room. The sun is trying to rise but is blocked by the dense fog. I put my small black notebook down and slowly climb to my feet. Starting to make my way to the glass I slide it to the side, promptly I hear the chirping of birds, smell the moist cold air, feel the slight breeze roll across my smooth skin, see the goosebumps slowly appear. I am here, I am okay, I can breathe.

I got my first Moleskine notebook from a family friend, he told me that writing would help if I didn’t want to talk; I didn't and it does. In the first week I went through two of the three notebooks I had been gifted. As a teen I used to write everyday but I stopped once life got in the way. Going into a career right out of school learning anything and everything I could from the people around me. Soon I was lost in my own little world, I wasn’t ready for what was to come next.

My mother and father passed, leaving behind this house, and twenty thousand dollars tucked in a secret account for backup. At first it was hard; already having a Moleskine notebook I realized I would need more to help with the coping and getting back into my happy creative side. Ever since they left this world I haven’t been the same, ightmares every week, no desires to do even the simplest of tasks. I made lists, wrote all my feelings, drew things only I could. Writing is the only way I have made it through this world. Without it I couldn’t exist. These notebooks are my oasis, I can write whatever my heart desires, whatever I need.

I have never had a lot of money, I grew up watching as my parents worked living paycheck to paycheck, helping each other stay positive and motivated. Once me and my siblings moved out, and started our own lives they saved, bought a house, started to go out once a month to a different casino each time. Whatever they won, went to their secret account.

I have always wanted a house, but not this way. Money of course who doesn’t, but what do I do with it? So far it has stayed put sitting waiting for a purpose. I have always wanted to start a business, give to charity, help my family with any kind of financial need, and be able to get luxury items that I want but do not necessarily need.

Slowing getting better everyday, thinking of new ways to stay busy, new things to do and learn. Soon it will be time to decide, decide what to do next… Keep the house, sell or rent it out. What will I do with the money they put in my name as the oldest? Share it, keep it, save it, spend it all? If they were still here I would ask what I should do, but without them all I can do is hope I am making the right decisions and continue getting better for myself. I know that my mother and father would not want me to live this life they gave me, in agony I put on to myself...