So yet another chapter of my life has come to an end. An episode without any blog-documentation. The first one in my life since I was sixteen.
Ive been writing since I learned the magic of putting letters together into words but somewhere during last year the words disappeared. I thought I had a writers block, even if it wasn’t on the internet for everyone to read the words would still come to me as texts, quotes and novels in my head, transforming feelings in to lyrics. And then it all just stopped. I believe that my lack of inspiration is strongly connected with my recovery. The sickness came to me in my early teens, as a little seed of doubt that found my anger towards the world, fed on it and turned it against myself. Writing became my sanctuary a proof that I wasn’t crazy and helped me remember that life has many bright moments even when you’re at the bottom of a dried out well with no obvious way up.
I took a break from everything that was my life when I left for Canada. When I fled to Canada. Taking a break from every person I knew, every habit and routine was the scariest and most necessary thing I’ve ever done. And I realize now that writing was one of those habits I needed a break from. Living in Canada taught me that the world will not end without routines. Anxiety will not kill you and surviving depression and an eating disorder is something I never gave myself nearly enough credit for.
Writing had to stop, just like everything else, just so I could get an outside view of my life. And I have been more present and in the moment more than I’ve ever been during these last 10 months. I’ve just been living and I have been brave enough to feel and to be alive and to let new people in.
I do not know if this blog will awake. But I know there are words in my head.