Trying to control my own happiness and tell myself that I’m in charge. I don’t know how to be mentally stronger and how to control my emotions. I get to choose how I feel right now, this could be the happiest moment of my life if I want it to be, but emotionally I don’t know how to think that. Getting very much back in touch with my writer’s side at the moment, I’m constantly writing and journaling, constantly getting the words down, constantly reading the words of others. Sitting in bed at night reading Sylvia Plath and wondering how someone can sound so much like home. The words are just pouring out of me and I’m leaving them everywhere, with different people in different places, I’m leaving snippets of me in cracks and empty spaces in order to fill them. Giving people different pieces of me, different slices of thoughts…you can have this and you can have this, here’s what I think about this and here’s my answer to this. I thought about what that would be like if I died right now. There’s lots of pieces of me everywhere and I’m okay with that. I like being in different places at once. Pain is never beautiful, but it inspires the writer within me and forces words to come out of the thought faucet that hasn’t been turned on for some time. Now it’s overflowing. I can’t stop it and I don’t want to, I have so much to say and I don’t know where to share it all, so I share it everywhere, with everyone. Even if no one’s going to read it. Either way, it makes me feel like my most authentic self and yes it hurts, but it makes me happy because of what it allows me to create. Turning pain into art. Turning the hurt into healing.