every now and then, i look back on all my
old writing as a form of visitation to the past.
i do it, sometimes, to remind myself of
all the things i've went through, good and bad.
or i do it, more often than not, to see whether or not my
demons of old still affect me in the same way that they used to..
it's a bit masochistic but it helps me to deal, helps me to be a little more
apathetic to the things that wounded or scarred me.
but mostly i do it to compare how much time
either changed me or kept me the same.
this morning, i entertained my urge to look into
an old wordpress account of mine, an account
i had actively written in during darker times and
freely used as a form of therapy and outlet
for my frustrations and..wait for it..heartbreak.
re-reading all the posts--public, private and password protected,
i was a little struck by the nakedness of my words.
raw emotions. so many strings of words put together
by everything i was feeling--pure and unfiltered.
it's quite amazing how all that was translated into writing.
i don't write as much as i should like to anymore,
and i feel that my writing would never be the same as it once was.
it makes perfect sense as to why that is--i'm not driven by
a slew of such passionate emotions and i've already come to terms
with the fact that i am a better writer when influenced by tragedy..
but i can't help but to wonder if that was something i just pigeon-holed myself in.
