What are the words you do not yet have? What do you need to say?
– Audre Lorde
I am not alone. Whatever else there was or is, writing is with me.
– Lidia Yuknavitch
Something very profound about the synthesis of my being: how only writing composes it: how nothing makes a whole unless I am writing.
– Virginia Woolf
June 2006. I am sixteen years old. My father has been dead a week. One night, I start to write in my journal. It’s a habit I’ve had for years but now trauma adds a sense of immediacy and necessity to the act of writing. I slip into a trance-like state and begin to write to the rhythm of my own pulse; this is writing with blood in it, it flows, gushes, it’s astonishing how much comes out and how free I feel in the purging. The…
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