Working With Dispair By Writing Through To The Pain
Posted by Depressed - 26/08/10 at 06:08 pmThree years ago, I started crafting a fiction for tweens, Belle in the Slouch Hat. It is just a story about a young girl who searches for revenge after her brother was killed in the Civil War. I consciously started the storyplot for my grandchildren; and I needed something to fill an emptiness in me as a consequence of the losing my precious mother, and another special woman in my life. They died within two months of one another.
When ever someone we love dies, we have to grieve; there is no way to avoid it. Everyone must move through the sadness and heartache in their own way. My option was penning.
Immediately after losing those I adored, it felt as if something was obstructing my agony and guarding me from the harshness and unhappiness because of death. To this day, there’s no doubt that ?t had been the Holy Spirit helping me through one of the most hardship during my life. You many decide to call it something else, but I believe it was the Holy Spirit. Ultimately after that, the reality of the deaths set in and I had no choice but to undergo the next phase of losing someone you love, the grieving process.
At the age of sixy-one, I sat at my computer; I began to write, and I started to get well. I jumped right into writing a novel without the full knowledge of what I was getting into. I didn’t stop to consider the number of hours that I would so willingly give to it, nor did I stop to think there was a correct way of doing it, all I know was I had to write. Sometimes it was down-right physically, mentally, and emotionally painful; other times, I felt drained of every once of energy in my body. Occasionally, my sense of meaning and my most treasured beliefs about life were challenged.
There seemed to be basically no timeline for when I needed to finish; and no one could stipulate to me when it would be finished. It required considerable time; not a day, not a month, not just one year, but two full years.
Aside from the initial three pages of my book, I did not have an order, or a plot ot follow, I just needed to write. I even built a imaginary barrier around me and didn’t want anyone to know exactly what I was writing, except my husband.
The more often I wrote, the greater I desired to create. Writing gave me an avenue to cry, to laugh, and also have an adventure. Unknowingly, I had put together my own support group with the personalities in my story. For me, it absolutely was a safe setting to share my thinkings and work through my suffering. I also found a way for me to commenorate those I loved.
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