I hated writing.  If you told me growing up that I’d be doing it for fun after college, I absolutely would have rolled my eyes!  Writing was a chore. 

But…in my third-year-writing class, I completed a 20-page research paper on looping and tracking in education (one of my nerdy passions), and I realized how much fun I had while researching and writing it!

I thought, “If I had this much fun writing in academia, there’s gotta be something for me in writing on an emotional and spiritual level,” whether it was public or private.

In elementary school, I had a diary that chronicled boys I liked and the dramas of gel pens; but since coming to college, journaling became a huge part of bible study, rants and raves, and personal exploration.

The joy I discovered in finding myself through writing became something difficult to put into words.  The deepest, introverted pieces of me can cause me to get way too caught up in my head, so writing became a safe place to reflect and respond to my self discoveries and struggles. Post diary days, I moved more toward quiet and sweet meditations from Rumi and reflections on Maya Angelou’s poetry and stories.  (*Highest recommendations for “Home” by M.A. and “The Essential Rumi” by Coleman Marks if you have yet to explore them!)

After being diagnosed with depression in November of 2014, my identity officially crumbled.  It felt like it had been falling apart, piece by piece for many months by then, but I was exhausting myself by forcing them to fall gracefully so I could pick them up by myself without anyone noticing.

I had been shoving them into my over-filled backpack of emotions and shame and guilt and sadness for so long that finally.  In the small, dimly lit room, I sat with my counselor as she said the word out loud, associating it with me.

Depression. And my backpack burst.

The seams ripped, making it impossible to zip it back up, and all my emotions and fears of being unworthy and unlovable were laid out in from of me. Damnit.  It hurt.  I had to deal with it now.  I had to deal with the pain my family caused me.  I had to deal with the fact that finding my identity in my job and academics wasn’t available to me anymore.  And worst of all, I had to deal with the parts of me that I didn’t like and redirect my attention on the things that were actually wonderful about me, things that made me ‘me.’ And I knew I had to love all of that; but I had to re-learn how to love all of that.

Writing has been a way for me to stay sane in my brain while also getting out all of my thoughts and without having others’ thoughts to worry about.  I no longer let others dictate what I think about myself and the decisions I make.  I can use the tools I have received from blogs and counseling and mentors and even helping others through their own pain…I use these tools to remind myself that there is hope on the other side.  That my struggle right now is the hardest one I will ever face.  And the next will be too. Writing is now a companion, allowing me to love myself again.  I can read something I wrote and look at it like I’m helping a friend.

I can come to my own conclusions with fresh eyes, a fresh spirit, and a fresh page. P.S. Hope is always singing, “Hello from the other siiiiiiide!”

She hung from the balcony with her arms hanging over head. Her pretty Prada heels hanging by her pedicured toes. Her hazel eyes flickered from above her to the fast pace moving street of New York below her.

Her lotioned fingers were slowly slipping from the frozen metal railed balcony, bringing her inches closer to a fall. She closed her eyes beginning to put her pride aside. Being daddy’s little girl wouldn’t help her from the threat of ending her ‘perfect’ little world.

“Help! Please,” She screamed, her words echoing over the balcony. “Help!” She screamed. Her cries growing louder as she dreamed. Dreamed of a savior. One that suited her flavor. A man – no a boy with blond hair. Who’ll smile and bare his biceps as he tells her “I’m going to help you fight this.” Maybe he’ll have pale eyes, that she’ll fall in love with. Tell her no lies. Maybe he’ll have a smile so sincere, mother Teresa probably wouldn’t come near. So she screamed “help!” again, waiting for her “Savior” to attend. Attend to her cries and needs. Give her everything, to make appease.

But her savior wasn’t in her description. Wasn’t a piece of some Romcom fiction. He was a boy with his hair gelled back. Hidden under a Red Sox baseball cap. His pants secured to his waist, his shirt starched held in place.

Now you see, she’d fallen so in love with her own graphic depictions, that she’d forgotten her life isn’t from fiction. That she wasn’t just daddies little girl. Indulging in her own ‘perfect little world’. She was daddies little toy. Something for play. Give him what he wanted and he’d give her what she wanted the next day. The ‘day after’ pill never had a broken seal. Leaving her expecting and alone. Alone with what she’d have to provide for in a time of nine months. So she let out a sob, let herself fall.

And as she fell she realized what life was slipping from her – her life of living hell.

By: Shayla Bush

For 18 years I lived a cold story repeated over and over, in the winters of my mind.

One night I stood outside and looked up to the stars with my watery, hollow eyes questioning my self-worth. My emotions were an amusement park in a tornado of confusion. In 2012, my world almost ended… The Mayans were almost right. I blamed myself for everything. Why I wasn’t in the cool crowd, why didn’t girls share the same feelings I had for them and why can’t I be like everyone else? I was outside for hours torturing my mind with these questions.

Do you know what’s it’s like being mistaken as a basic, living in someone’s shadow or losing when you gave every fiber of your being to win?

It’s an endless abyss with little light hitting the bottom. Its like building up a championship worthy team and get to the playoffs and lose in crucial game 7’s. That heart-breaking, gut-wrenching, sickening feeling that overwhelms you when all your energy is… just wasted on an golden opportunity. Your body goes numb, emotions constantly fluctuating and burdens begin to get heavier on your frail back.

It took some deep meditation and some years, but I came to a groundbreaking conclusion. I know my value, my worth and what I deserve. I know and believe that everybody was created equally, but at the end of the day I feel that I’m better than most people. I mean no disrespect when I say that, it’s just that’s my motivation that forces me to work hard at everything I do.

I had to learn to stop comparing my life to others and focus simply on mines. I had to learn that if people don’t connect with me, it’s simply them not me. I had to stop questioning and beating myself up when people don’t like me because I’ve beat the odds. I’ve been getting slept on for way too long. And I’ve been waiting patiently for way too long.

I see myself as a first overall pick. I see myself as an All-Star.

I see myself as a king. I respect and hold myself in the highest regard. I don’t come second to no one in my opinion. I’m not a joke and I’m not here for people’s entertainment. I’m not conceited or pretentious. No, I’m just a real person with real thoughts, feelings and emotions.

I just be myself all the time and some people accept that, others don’t. I’m comfortable and at peace with that. I’m comfortable with who I am. I’m an open, honest and real person. I’m passionate, down to Earth and caring. I have a big heart. I’m also humble and cocky.

I don’t need a partner or person to determine my worth because I know it.  I’m not out here trying to be something I’m not just to impress a handful of people. I don’t need likes or shares to validate me either. I’m open to constructive criticism, but I really don’t care about other people’s opinions about me. I’m the biggest critic on myself, so I don’t need other people to coach me or give me pep talks. I give them to myself on the daily basis from the time I wake up to the time I go to sleep.

It honestly takes too much energy for me to be fake or hate people. So much energy is wasted and drained from that. It gets to the point where its useless and stupid. Why spend the positive energy you have, get converted into negative energy on people who want to bring you down to their level? Believe me when I say  it’s all love on my end. It truly is, I’m going to give you love regardless even when you sticking a knife in my back. I believe that’s the best thing you can do for people, this eye-for-an-eye stuff only leaves people blinded. Why blind people even more with the world we live in today? For the people that wronged me at some point, I forgive them and keep it moving.

I know what you’re thinking, maybe I should change or conform because I’m a bad person.

That’s not the case at all. I’m a human being that’s wants to make the world a better place. I sincerely do, I don’t go out my way to do spread evil throughout the world. I mean I make my mistakes, but again I’m human. I smoke weed, drink and curse that’s about it. I don’t steal, cheat, hurt or do any serious things.

I’m not making this up to get attention or put me in your good graces, no this is me. I’m not saying I’m Jesus either, I just truly try to help make the world a better place and spread love.

Being that type of person in this world today is extremely difficult. The world is a hard place, it constantly tries to break people wills and swallow them up. Swallow them up until they’re hollow, generic shells that conforms to majority rule.

Every day i’m faced with that battle. Sometimes I feel like just selling out and joining the club, but I can’t do that. Some days I be at the point where I’m about to break, mentally and physically. But I can’t conform to society standard and be brought down to that level. I can’t transform into a person hating on the next man when there’s no need to. It’s hard being the type of person I am in this world. Sometimes I feel like I was born in the wrong era and feel foolish to try to uphold my standards and morals. But that’s my identity, that’s just who I am.

I’m not writing this to get sympathy or attention. I’m simply just a writer writing out his frustrations. It just disheartens me to keep getting overlooked, underappreciated and underestimated. I don’t want to have a chip on my shoulder when I’m doing things just to prove other people wrong. I feel as if I’m doing them out of spite, even though I’m passionate and willing to do them on my own free,  joyful will. I don’t want to entertain or give those people a show. No one deserves that and it’s sad people do that for free.