By now those of you who have remained with me throughout my writing journey will have realised that I have been writing for years. That it has been a lot of late nights spent on my laptop and old desktop in the very beginning, sometimes even until the dawn of a new day. Now, it was like this for a few reasons and has continued as my writing habit over the years. Even when I found it impossible to write during the past three years, I have read and wrote in a diary, drawn and played musical instruments during these key hours of the evening.
The reason behind this is partly because I am insomniac, but also because these are the hours that I felt the loneliest. I needed to escape the world, even if it meant being exhausted and cranky at school the next day. Writing was a way of fleeing reality when my depression was at its worst.
I've probably already wrote about my depression before but as a recap, I have suffered from depression in multiple levels of severity since I was approximately 9 years old. An occurrence at that age led me into what my doctor described as post-traumatic stress disorder and that as a result, I suffer depression as a long term effect. It got to the stage where the post-trauma has actually completely gone away but the depression and anxiety has not.
I always knew since that age that I had depression, but I didn't become aware of my anxiety until it got really bad last year. I hyperventilate and I literally cannot stop myself. I get shaky, my face flushes, I get light-headed and I feel like throwing up and passing out in equal measure. There have been a few times when I had to sit down because if I didn't I would have collapsed. My legs often go numb or feel like jelly when it happens.
A psychologist actually did a test on me for depression and anxiety and the results fluctuated significantly, depending on how stressful the situations are that I am currently in. And right now, I feel like crap. I am in my depressive mood and anxious about my last I.T. class at uni for the semester and the exams that I have over the next two weeks or so. So while I'm sitting here at the uni, typing away furiously to you all, I'm shaking slightly, my head aches and my fingers are dancing over the keyboard so fast that I'm making so many mistakes that I can't find the energy to correct.
So to conclude, my writing stemmed from depression. It was one of the reasons I was able to stop from hurting myself. At the time I wanted a hobby, something to be known to be good for. To be known as talented by the peers who sneered at me. To find some way to belong. A way to pass the nights.