Writing as therapy
Tuesday, February 23, 2010 at 8:55PM I was rereading my previous post, and I was astounded at how angry it was. It was my anger at people who didn't believe me, or doubted me - so I opened up the garbage can and threw the contents in their face - here, smell it. I imagine this post was not the most pleasant to read for most people (two friends of mine commented on that yesterday), but I also feel less anger today. It went out, I left it with the words on the screen, the anger is gone out of my system.
Throughout this entire remembering process, I was always writing. I started my first diary when I was 15, wrote it for 2 years (even wrote poems), until I got busy with my newborn daughter, then picked up again in the form of essays in the Moscow Architectural School (we had to do Russian writing course, just like here in colleges people have to take English writing). I continued writing essays in College here, and when I read them now, I can see my pain oozing out of them. Then I switched to writing my first script for a feature movie, which ended up being a short (20 minutes) that I shot in Seattle parks with the crew of 30 people, over the course of several months - the story was about a little girl lost in the forest and meeting Death (an old man). Later, I switched to writing the business plan for my company, all the while writing short 1 minute scripts for our content, and then, finally, last year, I started writing my novel, and several months ago, the non-fiction book about my personal experience and data on incest, and as of my Birthday this February, now I'm also writing this blog. Oh, forgot one - I was also journaling since November of last year - writing down my memories as they came to me. IN fact, I was so terrified that I will forget what I remembered, that I wrote down my memories from when I first came to US, 11 years ago. My story about the little girl and Death is based on one of them.
I remember, each time a memory would surface - of the shoes, of how I brushed my teeth, of the sand pit where I played, I wrote it all down, one by one. As I had almost a complete amnesia about my childhood.
I guess what I want to say with this all is - writing helps. It't like venting to many people at once - instead of just one - amplified by the ability to send this venting to others - by many people to see it at once. Through that, writing achieves greater power - as if I'm speaking in front of a large crowd. It makes me feel at peace. Like right now - I'm feeling calmer than when I started writing this. Will continue tomorrow.
P.S.: Here is one short poem I wrote when 16 (translated from Russian):
Coffee, back and cold,
A pack of Davidoff,
Clear but hungry mind,
A cough mint, ground,
All help to go blind,
To escape...
Reader Comments (2)
Ksenia, you are a brave young woman who WAS ABLE to look back and fight the FEAR. If writing helps you let it go - do it. Good luck to you in your new life!
Thanks:)