“There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
– Ernest Hemingway
I actually sit at a Macbook and bleed, but same thing.
I am going through a breakup, whose supplement, of course, is heartbreak. Without going into the pain associated with that kind of loss — and without going into the gory details of what happened (it’s not worth getting into) — I will say that I have been putting things into perspective…and the way in which that is happening is through writing. I am a writer for a living, but it isn’t just news articles: poems, short stories, screenplays, essays that I may consider posting on here.
ALSO, I realize this isn’t that directly related to the theme of my blog, but I will make the argument that heartbreak is an injustice on an interpersonal level, and there is an opportunity for justice to be won on the part of the heartbreakee.
For me, the way justice is being served is that I’m writing more and more, and I feel like my writing is evolving. In a weird way, it’s a godsend that happened to me because out of pain and suffering really does come something beautiful (See: one of my favorite clips from “Louie” (and really anything Louis CK has written about sadness) which helped me put what I’ve been feeling in perspective).
So here’s a love letter I wrote to the art of writing. So meta, I know.
You came into my life and made an impact on me at a very young age. You helped me win a “write your own story” contest and the D.A.R.E. essay competition in the 6th grade. You’ve helped me excel in all English and composition classes in junior high and high school. You’ve helped me write grade A-worthy research papers, fictional narratives, news articles and term papers throughout my college career.
Most importantly, you’ve helped me understand the value and the power of expression of one’s thoughts, feelings and opinions; and in that, you helped me discover the love and excitement I have for reporting and journalism.
When the first person I ever fell in love with broke my heart not too long ago, I was /supremely/ devastated. After being so incandescently happy for so long, it felt like a part of me was ripped out, mocked at and left to suffer in the woods.
This whole time I considered him my first love. He was the first person to express love to me in a way that no human has ever done before. He promised to never let me down, but, well, he did. He did all the things he never said he’d do. I kept on wondering (and on bad days, keep on wondering), how can my first love ever do me so terribly wrong?
But I had been mistaken. He is not my first love. You are, writing.
You are continuing to mend me from this heartbreak, little by little, reminding me that my greatest satisfaction isn’t through another person: it’s through my own damn self. You have helped discover who I am and understand the convoluted thoughts and feelings that course through my being. As soon as I enter the portal of my creativity, and the words somehow spill out onto the page or screen, it’s like I’m free, and I’m impervious to the pain he caused me.
Never have you let me down. You were always there, my greatest non-anthropomorphic confidante. You have always been there to take me out of that dark, dismal abyss and shown me my strength and what I am capable of in the many roles I play in my life: student, reporter, friend, daughter, sister, loved one, etc.
It’s a bit strange, though, isn’t it? That you, the transfer of the absurd, irrational, unique thoughts from mind to intentionally-placed, carefully crafted words on paper, can be so healing and transformative? But it is. Writing, you’re a beautiful thing that can never do me wrong.
You’ve saved me countless times, and I can only hope that my work is doing you justice. You are a vehicle for me as much as I am a vehicle for you. You’ve helped me learn to express myself freely. Writing, you are my best friend. And you have been my longest-standing best friend and continue to be the one I turn to in times of need.
You are my favorite thing in the entire world, and I thank you for being with me through all the shit I’ve had to tread through. I love you.
I now leave you with one of my favorite verses from Lin-Manuel Miranda’s “Hamilton: An American Musical”, a musical all about a man who utilized writing to make his mark on the world.
“Then a hurricane came, and devastation reigned
Our man saw his future drip, dripping down the drain
Put a pencil to his temple, connected to his brain
And he wrote his first refrain, a testament to his pain.”