Wednesday, October 31

An insight into why I write

I should be doing the dishes.

Or hanging out the washing.

Or sweeping and mopping the floors or any other number of things that come under the dreaded banner of housekeeping. But I am not.

Instead I am here. I just can't face being anywhere else right now. I feel so totally overwhelmed by life as a whole that I just don't know where to begin. Blogging seems like the only way to try and make sense of it. A way to shuffle the pieces around in the hope that I will see the best way to put them altogether.

Someone close to me, very close to me actually is faced with a rather dire situation. I want to help them but just don't know how. I don't even know if there is anyway I can help. The solution involves money and I just don't have any. Nor do I have a magic wand to make some appear.

The worry of it all is literally keeping me awake, stopping me from eating and keeps me constantly on the verge of tears. I feel physically ill just thinking about it, which kinda sucks because I am thinking about it ALL THE TIME.

All of this is amplified by the fact I can't go and talk to my dad about it. Which makes cry even more. I have no doubt that he would be able to help find a solution. He was always good like that. My head just can't stop thinking if he was here it would never have got so bad, in fact it would probably never even have happened in the first place.

Writing it all out was supposed to make me feel better. So far it hasn't.

Writing is like my best friend. It listens quietly and patiently to whatever drama my head is trying to comes to terms with. It lets me say things I wouldn't ordinarily say in person. Words that if I said out loud I fear I may choke on so I don't even try to say them, instead bottling it all up waiting to explode under the pressure of it all.

Writing lets it all out. It stops me from exploding and keeps me together.