One day in 1998, after my father’s death I found myself suddenly angry at the bizarre nature of funerals and death in America.
I poured out my heart in an English paper, describing the ritual of picking out my father’s coffin. I saw the irony in picking out something my father was going to be buried in like one might choose a prom gown or a new car. My English teacher wrote in the corner of this paper, “I have never read anything that touched me like this story. I cried. You have a gift, please share it.”
And that was it. Words began to gush, revealing my anger, bitterness, sadness and loneliness onto the lined pages of my journal. The writer in my was born.
Then my mother and I had a fight. The kind of fight two heart broken females have when one is a teenager and the other is the parent. I moved out in one day. I packed everything into my car and just drove off. I burned the journal and stopped writing.
I stopped writing for 18 years.
Fast forward to 1997 when a funny thing happened at work. I was given a laptop computer and access to the Internet. I was to test software and how a loan officer might use the Internet. Once home, like a chocolate addict given the keys to Sees, I used my computer as a magic carpet and flew all over the world exploring events and cultures I only imagined. (who cares what a loan officer uses it for).
One night, while quietly reading about Ireland and Gaelic language, my very first Instant Message popped up on the computer screen. It made this great little sound . . . like a bird whistling.
I almost dropped the laptop; it startled me so.
Suddenly there I was, writing from my lap in our little cottage home. Writing to people live – in real time. I love the back and forth banter between two people in an instant message. It is a writer’s paradise. We are most at home when typing a conversation, rather than delivering it in person. The ability to write to new found friends over the Internet gave me the strength to leave an unhappy marriage.
I became sick with Hashimoto’s somewhere around 2002 and went through a particularly rough period in my life. One day, while lying in bed I came across the opportunity to begin this blog. I had so many thoughts running through my head screaming at me to be written down. Without even thinking, I naturally followed the steps to create a blog and dove head first into writing.
I was back.
It was very difficult at first, like stretching a new muscle. But over time it evolved into the flow of a person’s life story.
Maybe not everything, but an idea of what my life is like.
Then the emails began. People writing to me about their thyroid problems, opening up and sharing very private, painful experiences. Experiences I can all too well relate. Suddenly I was surrounded by kindred spirits.
And calling myself a writer again.
Until next time –
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