Words that Surround Me
I once had to go through a few months of psychological help. Every time I walked into the office I’d hunch. It always smelled of antique shops and was super, super messy. Teabags were all over the place, and a gray cat would run across the room. Then I’d sit on an old green couch and wait. Wait for something to believe in. What’s there to believe in, in a world full of negativity? In a world full of people telling me, “You’re not going to make it. That’s not right. You can’t, you won’t. You are not going to write.” There has to be something I can believe in that separates me from the others. It might be something that I do when life gets a little different for me. It might just be the words I put on paper. Those words that I write and dance around on my page and make everything a little better, that’s what I believe in. I believe in it because it explains me and makes me, me.
Sometimes I just sit there and write, spilling all my thoughts out on paper like milk spilling on the carpet. I have the ink from my pen sinking into the paper, the paper smelling of dark black ink. In the back of my mind I hear my mother screaming on the phone again in concern of Grandpapa Ted’s Will and talk of my future of being a lawyer; not a writer or anything else that I’ve got in mind. There goes that encouragement again, and that’s my mother’s encouragement. That’s when I start to believe that the words I keep writing on that college ruled paper in my blue notebook is really what I believe in. When everything else goes down, why not just write something? Write till the fingers go numb and you get a nice big red mark on your middle finger from the pen you were using to write with.
My mother goes on talking on the phone about the things I’ve joined in high school this year. She goes on about how it won’t get me anywhere. That’s when I decided to just turn up the volume on my CD player and pick up my pen and paper. I write as furious as I can. I try to block out my mother’s voice in my mind. I block out the stare I’m getting from the psychologist. I don’t think about what is going on in the psychologists mind as the music gets louder on the table between us. I just write because I can. I can because people say I can’t. My math teacher once told me in the beginning of the year, “If you tell your mind you can’t do something, then you can’t. If you tell your mind you can do something, then you definitely can do it.” I tell myself I can, I always do. That way I can write down my feelings about the things I think and want to pursue. That’s how I live my life. I live it with my mind thinking I can do anything I put my mind to. I put my mind to paper too.
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