She wondered if she should bother showering, the thought as she sat at her computer, typing out more and more words as she'd been doing a good portion of the day. She'd found so much on that CD that had been lost for so long. The discovery of the music that she thought she'd lost was nice, but the real gold mine had been in the writing. So much of her writing that she had forgotten, that had been lost in
time, was now uncovered.
There was just so much to look through, and then there was that account online that she'd finally gotten access to. A lot of it she wasn't proud of, but it was there, it was written, and it gave her a reminder that she did use to write quite prolifically. It gave her hope, that maybe she might have found this hobby that she'd been searching for for such a long time. For the longest time she'd been switching from hobby to hobby, never truly focusing on one thing to keep her attention through all the bad times.
Today, though, the young woman thought, today had been better. She didn't feel depressed, she didn't find herself so worried about the things that haunted her, the decisions that she faces. She knew the decisions still had to be made, she knew, but there was time now. She wasn't in such a rush. And maybe writing out her story in third person might help her make the decisions that had to be made. She made a resolve to try this, desperate for anything to help her. Her mind wandered to her predicament, and she shook her head. Focus on the words, focus on the now.
The young woman smiled to herself. She'd done over 2300 words of writing today, more writing than she'd done in time unmemorable. There were changes to stories she'd ignored or almost forgotten about, changes that led her to want to write more, to fix the story. A few of the stories just shocked her, being things that it just didn't seem that she would write. She decided she must have been in a very strange mood when she wrote those things. Some of her writing was depressing to read, she admitted to herself, but a lot of it was written during the years when her depression was untreated and a lonely teenager at that.
She tried to be nice to herself – some of the writing was so bad. But the made herself remember, she was only 14-17 years old when those were written. She thought about taking them all off the website, but decided to hold off for now. She had, after all, gotten one or two reviews on most of them, encouragement that people did like the stories, just as they were. Some of them even implied that they wanted to see more of those stories. Now, maybe she couldn't write more to the stories as they were, but perhaps if she edited them they would hold some potential. The really dark ones... well, she'd handle those when she was in a better place to do so. It was odd, some of the darker ones were actually better-written. Probably because as she got older, both her writing improved and her depression worsened.
There was just so much to consider, now, so much to do. Writing could be her escape, the young woman pondered. Her escape from the real world. Her hope to find something to do day in and day out. Her hope to help lessen the depression that the medication couldn't completely eradicate. The writing could be a doorway to a better future.