Moving Through Life. Chapter 123: Exercises

In my days where I really had a hard time, I used to mostly sit; In doleful thoughts.

My mother came to me and she said very gently: "Emma, I don't think this is very helpful to you. Why don't you use a better coping method?"

I sat there and thought for a few minutes, and came to a realization.

She was indeed correct, mental health doesn't become better by moaning and groaning within your pain.

I decided to utilize my talents to capture my thoughts, where I could understand them more easily.

But how?

I mulled over it, practicing my violin helped very much, but something was still missing.

My mind needed more exercise and attention.

One day I decided to pick writing back up.

I had taken a few month's break, but thought maybe I would create a story.

I wrote some, but still, I found a piece wasn't there.

It was poetry.

After thinking some, I happened to scribble some poems I thought were coming from inside.

I read them over and over again, and found them to be very pleasing to not only me; But everyone I showed.

It was then, I wanted to make a career out of it.

This satisfies and takes so much of my time.

In my troubles, I write.

They all come from my heart and mind.

It doesn't judge nor belittle me, but sees me as its creator.

They accompany me when I'm alone, and need help.

Honestly, poetry are my feelings, they guide and propel me to write.

They speak lovingly to me, and reach for my hand, so that I may place them upon paper.

The sadness sings gloomily, exclaiming its doom and imperfection.

It reminds me how I've failed and fell down, where I thought I could stand.

Nervousness asks me what I'm doing, and I answer: "Nothing" ; And sit staring at the floor disconsolately.

Like a choir, my feelings sing, each different emotions, taking their turn to tell their stories.

Aroused by their harmonies in my ears, I feel the urge to write them down in my thinking.

Singularly describing and recalling each message they ring.

In the end, a surge of happiness overtakes me; I see before me, my work written as musical instruments of the heart.

I've yearned for a satisfying coping method so much.

God gave me these poems.

These along with music, are the best hobbies I could ever ask for.

I do like going outside, the sunshine is warm and calming.

But I felt the need to mostly exercise my mind and emotions over my body.

I do have a job, which is very hard work, and I required poetry to soothe the hectic anxiety.

Inside me, is where everything works the hardest.

Thanks to my writing, I can pull from within, what my mind is trying to say to me.