It was Friday March 14, 2014. I walked through the doors
into Barnes and Noble. I walked to the first row of books that came into my eyesight
and I started looking. I didn’t know what I was looking for but I was
determined to find what I didn’t know I needed at the time. I judged each book
by its cover, taking in each syllable, praying one would finally be it.
At this time in my life, my head had been spinning nonstop
with thoughts for over a month. I was tired of the spinning, I truly didn’t
understand the spinning, so I was looking for the answer. I was looking down
each shelf of the beautifully displayed books, praying one would say, “Pick me.
I’m what you need, I’m what you are looking for.”
I paced back and worth down my ‘go to’ isles. I went to each
section of authors that I normally love. As I read each description of the
books I picked up, nothing called me to take it home.
I just wanted it to stop. I just wanted the spinning in my
head to stop. There was so much clutter. There were clutters of emotions I had
suppressed for months. There were current feelings that I didn’t understand.
All were colliding together, creating constant noise in my head.
I was really busy at this time in my life. I mean, REALLY
BUSY. I was working three jobs, saying yes to anyone who asked me to do
something. The business was good. It distracted me from the noise in my head. I
could function (or I thought I could at least). But on this Friday night, my
phone was not buzzing with text messages, there were no notification to attend
to. All that was left was the noise and I.
I finally gave up. I could not find the answers I was
looking for on the shelves of Barnes and Noble. Amidst the thousands of words
that could have been carried with me with one swift movement, I could not find
the ones I so desperately needed.
I finally walked to the Best Seller section, saw The Great
Gatsby, remembered how I liked the movie but never read the book. I wanted to
walk out with something, so I settled for this fictional paperback.
I began to walk towards the register when I noticed out the
corner of my eye a section I never visit. It’s on the far end, kind of awkwardly
set aside. On it’s shelves held pages and pages of blank papers; journals. One
in particular caught my eye. It had a red bind with little strips of different
colors paper sown in with red string. I remember staring at it. I loved the
colors. I loved the way the paper was sown into the cover. I came in search for
words that night, but instead I walked away with blank pages.
I bought The Great Gatsby, the blank journal, and went to
Starbucks. I got my favorite non-coffee drink, posted a filtered picture onto
Instagram (because when your world has become chaotic, sometimes a filtered
picture can deceive you into believing you can filter your real life), sat back
and tried to read.
I couldn’t make it through the first chapter. Even though I
was in a crowded coffee shop, on a Friday night, surrounded by multiple
conversations, I could not drown out the emotions that were so desperately
trying to escape. I began to realize that Instagram filters cannot actually
filter your real feelings and I had to get them out. I had to some how find a
way to release the pressure.
That’s when I put the book down, dug through my purse, found
a pen and began to write down some of the noise that was screaming in my head.
I wonder what I looked liked from the outside in this moment. I feel like I
looked like this idealistic girl, sitting in a coffee shop without any cares in
the world but if you were to read that entry on March 14th, you
would have learned other wise.
I wrote until I felt I was going to cry in the middle of
Starbucks, so I stopped, grabbed my stuff, and left. I went home to my
roommates and acted as if I had had a relaxing Friday night alone.
It was later that night that I noticed a difference in
myself as I laid down to sleep. I felt better in the same way you feel after
taking a decongestant when you have sinus problems. The problem hasn’t left,
but for a brief moment, you experienced a release of pressure. For a solid
moment, you can breathe again.
I once had someone tell me that sometimes we ask God for the
answers, for the tools to fix things when it reality He’s already given us all
we need. Everything we need, is just laying inside of us, waiting to be used.
That’s what happened that night in Barnes and Noble. I went in looking for
other people’s words, for their words to bring me relief when in reality what I
needed that night was inside of me. The words I needed were laying in my chest,
just waiting to be released.
I’ve been journaling and blogging ever since that night. I
have been writing and releasing words that build up inside of me. I went one
week without writing and I paid the price for it. I began to feel emotionally
constipated. I’m extremely empathetic and a processor, I have learned that if I
do not take time to sit and process my thoughts, my head can get foggy. It can
clutter easily.
This night was just the beginning of a long healing process
for me. It was just the spark to a dark hard road that would only spit me out
better and stronger. Writing became apart of my healing process. It has become
apart of me.
Writing helped heal me. Something that has always been
sitting inside of me helped heal me.
