After journaling my way through adolescence and falling in love with telling stories on paper, writing became a part of my being. But when I became an adult and joined the real world, I wasn’t prepared for the new level of responsibilities that I would face, eventually slipping into a mild period of depression where I just didn’t care very much about anything.
I stopped writing, reading, playing piano, drawing, and basically every other endeavor I’d ever used to foster my creativity. I threw my whole being into the frenzy of my paid profession. At first I had a hard time shutting off the fiction and creativity, but I told myself that I’d get back to it someday when I had more time.
Then I realized that I never would have more time.
|I felt like my dreams were just out of reach.|