Writing

I’ve always loved to write. Writing is therapeutic for me and it’s something that I try to do more of. I remember entering a writing contest when I was in the first or second grade. My story didn’t win anything but all I remember about it was it was a story of a bunny and I did all of the artwork as well. My parents still have the story somewhere and one day I would love to have it.

One of the more difficult things about writing for me is that I have dyslexia. It’s one thing that I have struggled with my entire life and trust me, it’s not east being dyslexic and work at a bank. It makes work interesting some times. For a lot of my childhood, I don’t think I read at the level that I was supposed to. I’ve always loved to read. I can remember my mom reading to my brother and me at night and I know we wore out quite a few Dr. Seuss books.

My journal.

In fifth grade, Mr. Young (one of the best teachers I ever had) asked me to pick a book from the other side of the library. I had been picking out books meant for second and third graders. I wasn’t sure if I could read one and he told me that I would never know unless I tried. I scanned the bookshelves until my eyes landed on a hardcover book near the top of one of the shelves bound in red paper. I pulled it from it’s hiding place and read the description.

The Boxcar Children by Gertrude Chandler Warner became one of my favorite books that I ever read all because Mr. Young made me chose a book for my age group. I don’t know if he suspected that I was dyslexic because I never volunteered to read something in front of the class and I didn’t really read even though I told him that I love to. Mr. Young re-introduced me to reading and encouraged me to write as well. Because of him I fell in love with the writing style of Roald Dahl. Mr. Young read to us every Friday, if I remember correctly.

When I got to high school, Mr. Perry had us write for ten minutes straight. We weren’t allowed to stop our pen or pencil for the whole ten minutes. Whatever was in your head during those ten minutes made it on your page, even if you wrote blah, blah, blah for ten minutes. I had Mr. Perry twice – once as a Freshman and again as a Junior. English was a school subject that I always loved and seemed to excel at (when I decided to actually do my homework).

A lot of my teachers throughout school suggested that I keep a diary/journal. I never could keep up with wanting to write something like that. Until now. I have only missed one day in my journal since December 23, 2010. That is 33 days of (almost) non-stop writing for me. I use the journal as a way to keep track of what I did that day or whatever I’m feeling. I tend to keep my emotions, both good and bad, bottled up until my mind can’t handle it anymore and I blow up at people. I don’t mean to but it has happened so many times that I regret it later on.

I don’t want that regret and now that I’ve been put on antidepressants, I remembered the advise from so many teachers and put my emotions on paper. It’s one of the best things I have done. I seem to write so much between my journal and this blog, but none of my emotions get bottled up.

Thank you to all of those teachers who showed me that reading and writing truly are two things that will always reside in my heart and soul. Because of your efforts, I will never give either of them up. We need more teachers like you in the world. Thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me.

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