written word...

I often wonder how a captive person becomes a champion for their captors...Stockholm Syndrome...I was, am this person. No, I was not held captive in a cave or basement. I was not chained some where, but allowed myself to become mentally captive. I never realized this until one afternoon while talking to the nicest woman. I was selling her a fountain pen and I shyly mentioned I was a writer. Her eyes lit up, I then said I was never formerly trained. I had been through some turbulent times and found putting my thoughts to paper had become my outlet, my way of expressing my feelings of rage, fear, love, sadness, misery, passion. Downright amazing the freedom that exists between you and a piece of paper. My life through words is an amazing journey. This was a journey that was not always available to me. It was after my breakdown that the written word became my friend, my ally and my confidant, because I had no one that could possibly know my thoughts...I was too far gone. Hoping to never return to the place I had so hastily left. But somewhere in my journey to hell and back I realized you did not have to return to the place you had left so abruptly. Perhaps it was possible to return to a better place. You, through your mind and immense power that is wields itself like a mighty sword. You have the power to choose. I choose to never return to the place I had existed so rudely by way of a betrayal so harsh and unforgivable, I still three years, five weeks and one day later am unable to escape from the misery.