Writing is therapeutic. It is a form of catharsis for those who are literarily inclined. It provides an emotional release for those who have a way with words, those who have a fluidity and clarity of vision, the ones who have the gift of articulation. The ability to express oneself through words and ideas is a great one. I have this talent.
In the recent deep internal process of reflection upon my life, I realized that I have stopped writing. I had previously continually updated a journal that was open to anyone who so chose to read the ramblings of a thoughtful and misguided young man. Somewhere along the line, I stopped. In this lull of creative expression, I somehow lost a sense of self. Emotions welled up beyond burden. I am attempting to relieve these tensions through the process of writing. By articulating my emotions, I am more able to handle my internal states: no longer are they cloudy ruminations, but clairvoyant and cognized thoughts that formulate into a nearly tangible state. Perhaps in my philosophizing, I will be able to elucidate my being. Perhaps in this process, I will find myself.