Writing for inspiration – Paragraph two

It was half-past three on a cold, rainy morning. Laura had spent the entire night wandering around the city, getting lost in her thoughts. She spent so much of her time these days thinking about what she had lost, or had she? Was it even what she wanted? The last six weeks or so had been so confusing, she wouldn’t say bad so much, but not easy. On some level it just has to be easy, doesn’t it? Life. Spending so much time trapped inside her own mind was not healthy, Laura knew that; it just felt safer there. Her work kept her busy and distracted during the day for the most part, and her home life was everything she had ever hoped for. At least, she had thought it was. Her feelings for Luke hadn’t changed, but they may not have been quite what she thought they were. Laura knew she loved her husband, but did she love him in that way? Or did her heart belong to someone else?


 

Laura had known Luke since they were teenagers, she had grown up with him and knew him so well. They had been almost inseperable during their teenage years and no-one was surprised when they got engaged. The problem, she found, was that in gaining a husband she had lost her childhood best friend. She had felt since that day that she was missing that one person who she could be truly open with. Luke had not felt like that person since their wedding. This was not something that she had shared with him mind, there was no need to cause him any pain; after all, she did love him.

Advertisements

Why am I doing this?

Just under a year ago I was diagnosed with both anxiety and depression, this wasn’t a surprise but a confirmation of something I already knew. After confiding in my best friend and pouring out more of my feelings on her than was really fair, I decided, with her blessing that I should get some professional help.
Honestly, one of the easiest and yet most helpful things that both my friend and my counsellor told me to do was write. Anything and everything was a worthy subject. At first, I was sceptical that writing could be as powerful a tool as I was being told; but I was wrong. The brilliance of using writing as a coping mechanism is that it can be whatever you want it to be. I have spent countless hours just writing literally the first thing that comes into my head, it rarely even makes sense. Most of my writing is for me and me alone, a way to put some of the darker thoughts and feelings that I have struggled with out of my mind.

As my mental health has improved and become easier to handle, I have branched out with my writing. Moving into more creative places, including creating a comic book that follows two naive kids as they go about their daily lives.

This blog is a continuation of this process. I cannot imagine going back to not writing every day, even if it is not something I any longer need to do for my health.
Photo by picjumbo.com from Pexels