writing through writers block

Most of my life has been spent on the outskirts. As a kid I spent so much time alone, stuck in my own fantasy worlds, whether from my own imagination, through books, or other forms of media. I always felt like I was an imposter, someone pretending to be a person, not always entirely sure how or what it really takes to be a person, but also knowing I'm supposed to act human. I figured out writing made a lot more sense than talking, because at least I can erase the ramblings I write out to make my pieces more coherent. speaking has always been a do first, think later action for me, my parents used to constantly tell me 'you need to think before you do something,' I often did things and decided on how things would go without thinking too much of anything about how it would happen, what I needed to actually do to make it happen, and who was going to help me. This was always my life, even though I had a tendency to over plan the 'important' things and end up hours early to events, and extensively planning outings. I literally could not tell you how the hell this works, or how the fuck im alive, because truthfully so many of my actions are in constant contradiction with each other.

When I first experienced depression and was promptly sent to a therapist, she recommended keeping a journal. For years I had bragged about how English was my best subject. The first journal I ever had, now destroyed, was the first time I realized I was actually pretty decent at writing. Even if I did somehow start writing what would usually be blabber, it was easier to make it interesting, it was fun to write the way I would actually talk, instead of the stuffy academic writing I had spent my entire life doing. I had always attempted and failed at keeping a diary as a child, but the more I wrote, the more I realized I didn't really ever run out of things to write about the same way I ran out of things to talk about. There was nothing limiting my writing, no one had to listen, no one had to sit there listening to me drone on, and I wasn't wasting anyone's time, while also filling up my vast amount of free time. no one ever had to see it, I didn't have to worry about making anyone feel bad, I didn't have to get anyones opinion, I could write whatever I wanted and move on. I have probably thousands of uncompleted works of writing floating around, countless pieces that were destroyed, burned, trashed, given away.

writing was the first time I felt human. where I could let out all of the different variations of me freely and with no judgment. It did wonders for my confidence and self esteem. I devoured written content, songs, and musicals, obsessed with how beautiful people could make written words, and how intense letters on paper can make you feel. spending hours trying to develop my own tone, style and type of writing. filling notebooks halfway before wanting to start filling all of the other pretty notebooks I spent all of my money on, now that I was obsessed with writing, I found myself immersed in journaling, the most productive I had ever been in my life. So saying writing made me feel human is a bit of an understatement.