Literacy Narrative

During my teenage years, I had a lot of emotional issues. These issues had nothing to do with my family because they were absolutely amazing. However, for some reason I never felt as if I fit in. When we moved out of the big city that I had been raised in for 13 years, into a small country town, it was a huge culture shock, to say the least. I had two older brothers that adjusted just fine, but I was struggling to feel like I belonged in this little farm town. There was a four cow to one person ratio, and I was uninterested in befriending a cow, and so began my hard journey for friendship and acceptance.

I eventually found some people who became my "friends." They were involved in things that teenage children should not partake in, but I instantly liked the feelings I got from these things. At the end of the night they would all be ready to go home, and I would be left wanting more. Alone, now in a drug-induced insomnia, I would sit and think for hours. At some point, this thinking became so overwhelming, that I eventually had to get it out, so I picked up a paper and pen and let it all pour out.

It was during this very confusing point in my life that my writing commenced. I had page after page of the many thoughts and feelings that were running wildly through my body. I was consumed with a feeling of relief and release that I never knew was possible. Things started to make more sense; order came into the strange cocktail that had conjured itself in my mind. I began to share some of my writings with a couple people in my life. One was a good friend who also used writing as an outlet. We would compare our work. Mine would help her and vice versa. We had found a safe place to release all the pain, happiness, confusion, good times, and bad times. This was a place no one could judge us or stop us from speaking freely. There was no fear of stigma or guilt when I was writing my thoughts.

There were several times growing up that I moved away from my parents' home for temporary periods. It was during one of these times that my mother stumbled across my work. She couldn't believe it, and begged me to continue my writing. She thought it was fantastic. I moved to so many different locations that eventually my notebooks all got lost in the process. Although, they were physically lost, the words and thoughts never left my mind.

I am very excited that I have a reason to awaken my passion of writing. There is a lot of fear in me that I cannot do it as good as I used to, or that I somehow will fail miserably, but I am still looking forward to giving it my all.