High on Life

"Life hit me like a freight train."

That was supposed to be the opening line to my first novel. I thought of it one day when I was attempting to describe my life and it always stuck with me; it was catchy, and so, so true. Ever since I can remember, I have had an intimate love affair with writing. Language, in all of its magnificent beauty and immortal power. I am in love with the fact that a few, carefully chosen words, can describe something as complex as an emotion, as feeling.

Because of my love for writing, I entered college as an English major. One of the first things I learned, was that most beginning writers only knew their opening line, but had little clue as to what the following lines on the following pages of their novels would contain. I was one of those writers, but could never understand why. Looking back on it now I guess it was because I had so much to say that I caused myself to lose the ability of how to say it. I would stare at the blank sheet of electronic paper upon my laptop, and I watched the black bar appear and disappear. It was waiting for me to write something, but I just couldn’t; I was afraid. I couldn’t write because I feared rejection of who I was, even though no one ever read my work. It was as if I was waiting for permission of some sort, permission to express myself to the fullest of my ability.

I was lost, confused, and knew no other way to fill the void that my inability to create created, than to harm myself. The only thing I loved more than writing, was hurting myself. I would picture myself sitting alone in a dark room, high on pot and smoking my last cigar. I would picture myself drinking wine and cutting myself whenever I felt numb. It was strange, and maybe there’s something wrong with me, but all I wanted was to be beautiful - beautiful, and perfect. It was a lot to ask, but I prayed and prayed, and promised God that if he, she, or it allowed me to live up to my standards, than I would finally be happy and would never complain again. But after two years in an emotionally, mentally, verbally abusive relationship, I thought I’d never get to see that precious light of life again.

Then, suddenly, the universe spoke to me. It whispered to me; it whispered that everything was going to be okay. It told me that I was exactly where I was supposed to be, and it promised me that I was everything I had ever wanted.

To this day I’m still learning how to listen to God’s subtle whispers, and I suppose I will never be able to fully understand them until the day I die. But one thing I have learned is that the only thing that was holding me back was me, so I decided to return God’s favor by promising that one day I would love myself unconditionally. I promised that I would gather all my strength, and learn to love myself without the help of rock bottom.

 

Each and every day is a battle, but one day I won’t need or even want drugs to get high, to forget all my worries and to forget all my fears. I realize now, that all of God’s glory is flowing through me like a magnificent river, during every single second of the day.

Author's Note

When I say "God", I'm not referring to any specific God from any specific religion. I simply mean The Divine Spirit.

Reviews

[C.C. Marx]

You really throw yourself out there in your writing, don't you? Just reading this short blurb I feel like I know you, I can sympathisze with you, I can feel your pain. That's really hard to achieve but you've done it. Great worrk

[KillerWithWords]

Not many people can write their feelings as clearly as you just have.

I was inadvertently nodding my head while reading. The feelings you have shared are truly unpleasant. You display their intensity, their coldness and most of all, their power.
I sympathize with you, the author, and i do hope you continue your journey to finding what it is you've seem to never have had. But perhaps your stop is closer than you think...
your writing is fantastic... i encourage you write write and write.
Well done.