There will never be a book

Writing

Writing (Photo credit: jjpacres)

I love to write.

Although I do not have enough time, and sometimes I lack ideas. I love to see the words form, and sentences get meaning. Writing this blog has been so important for me. The issues that I managed to put into words, all those difficult things that I never could talk about. I wrote. I could hardly look at comments and “likes”; it made me really nervous. In retrospect, writing helped me to make all the dangerous stuff less dangerous. I found that I could think about it without ending in hopeless flashbacks. It was never good, to write, as in “getting it off my chest”. But I think that by writing, I got to use something not so closely connected to feelings, I had to be specific and clear, to the point. Set all feelings aside for a while, though my hands were shaking, and I cried sometimes. I had to plan, to decide what to write about as I sat down to do it.

‘You should write a book’, my therapist said.

Maybe I will someday. But not about this, not about, PTSD, child abuse, insomnia, flashbacks. Me, as a child, can rest now, I think. I feel ok about it all, I never would have guessed that last spring, before I started this blog. 🙂

You are all an inspiration. Thanks 🙂

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