by Jan Deelstra

Created on: February 17, 2009

Why I Write: Writing Thru The Pain of Death
Since pre-pubescent and trading in my fat Crayola crayons for the more mature sleeker version, the act of writing has been a cathartic, enjoyable, and undeniably rewarding past time. I have relished writing and its sister reading since the second grade when I completed my first full chapter book, Lucretia Ann On The Oregon Trail. Both hobbies were the crucial escape tunnel needed for a young discarded child, as was I.

For the past several years, however, writing has been more than a child's form of escapism. Writing is my stainless steal tool for survival. Especially, since the suicide of my son in 1995, when I began writing to help me sort through my chaotic head-speak, I have come to see the importance of the open arms of my precious keyboard. Non-judgmental, available at any hour for a booty-call, the computer is an intimate friend. I can show up teeth unbrushed, naked-face, slouchy jammies, throw a mega-tantrum, act spoiled and demanding and entitled, and even neglectful, but my writings will support me and nurture me and will even guide me through the worst, and to where I need to be, anytime, all of the time.
Being an author has gotten me to thinking about how other folks deal with pain, loss, or stress. I doubt that I am unique in using my writing as a tool for releasing the torment that may otherwise overtake me. So I ask these questions, whole-heartedly:
Are there others out there in Authorville, writing your pain and sorrows onto pages?
If so, can the art and practice of writing be considered a key in the toolbox for suicide prevention?
Do others keep private journals of treasured memories as a necessary tool used for sanity maintenance?
Can words help heal in times of severe sorrow and grave loss, or make splendid merryment in times of celebration?
Is one's own relationship with private personal thoughts a mentally healthy and balanced relationship?
Do words come easily to fill the need when called upon?
Certainly true poets and songwriters have been leaning on their painful emotion as muse since time immemorial. It is only now that I consider the immeasurable debt I owe to my outlet, my friend, Writing.
The idea of writing as therapeutic puts a whole new connotation to the phrase, "mental health," as I contemplate my personal savior. My mental state is constantly in flux, but I know for certain, that it is/I am on the mend. That I owe most specifically to Writing.

Learn more about this author, Jan Deelstra.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.