We all have a story. It’s not required to be an interesting or thrilling story. It’s YOUR story and that alone is thrilling enough.

I’ve shared how I began to write, I’ve shared how much I love to read. I’ve shared that as a child, I tried to carry & read books that were 3 times my size. I’ve sounded unbelieably cliche on every post. I’ve said quite possibly something along the same lines as every other book-lover, and early experienced writer has. Maybe it’s because I’m in such a writers-block moment in my life. I like to call it “my rut”. I’ve been stuck and sadly, it’s lasted me since my last blog post LAST YEAR. It’s been incredibly difficult to write about myself, my experiences, or anything for that matter. I mean, I’ve barely posted on my instagram and I used to use that app like it was my entire life.

I visited N.Y.C in October for god’s sake and I still have yet to write about my unforgettable experience to my readers.

Why am I so extremely stuck? I’m struggling and that’s part of my story. Struggle. I’ve been struggling to write for 6 months. I never seem to find the right words, or the right time. Maybe, just maybe this could be my breakthrough. I sure hope it is. Writing isn’t only my outlet to escape life when it gets a little too chaotic, but it is also my escape from my anxiety.

I never realized how bad my anxiety was until my senior year of high school, and since then it’s gradually become worse. Trust me, I’ve had my share of spending 45 minutes in the shower sitting on the bathtub floor letting the hot water hit my back. I’d sit with my knees up to my chest and I’d go through my day in my head. What are the things I could had done better/differently? Did I do anything to upset anyone? Was that a dumb thing for me to say?

I’d question everything. I still do. Writing helped me feel less trapped by my mental illness. Going everyday like this gets exhausting. That’s why I wrote. It’s why I still write. It cleared my head and made me feel better. Especially when I thought everything else was crashing down around me. Everything would feel like it was on fire, it felt like chaos was never coming to an end, and I had no power. That is, until I realized the only person who has power over their mind is themselves. It is then the chaos faded, and I found peace. Now, if I could train my mind to do this every time anxiety maneuvers it’s way into my thoughts, I’d be golden. It’s not always that easy.

But it can be done.

I’m going to find my words.

Maybe I already did.

This will be my breakthrough.