Introductions & Akwardness

     16 years- 16 long years I have survived. Through the gruesome ups, downs, & overall upside-downness of life, I have somehow managed to survive.
     I used to be a quiet child with too much to say but too little courage to lift my voice. Thanks to my tight-lipped silence, I learned to observe my surroundings and the people around me, which often led to me discovering things that other people, specifically those who never took a break from listening to their own nonsensical chatter, could not notice.
     It was through this observant manner that I discovered my one true love: writing. I fell in love with the sound of the rhythmic syllables that made up words; with the feel of a slick pencil gripped between my eager fingertips; with the balance of colors between the dark tint of  letters in contrast to the pure white paper they were scribbled upon. Anytime I had any writing utensil handy, a scrap piece of paper no matter the size, and a second to spare, I was turning my thoughts into words. To me, nothing could ever compare to the deep-seated satisfaction of successfully formulating the jumbled mass that were my thoughts into written ideas that others could easily decipher.
     Since I had always been awkward and had trouble clicking with people in excessively social settings, I had to learn to create my own coping mechanisms. I could never quite figure out how to communicate with others in a way that they could easily relate to me. I had always struggled with trying to connect with the other kids. My ideas were just far too outside of the box for them. But, once I began writing, I found that I no longer cared what others thought. I knew that as long as I had a way to vent and release my bottled up emotions, I would be just fine. Sure, maybe an inanimate object, such as the paper I wrote upon, couldn't actually return the act of sharing thoughts and ideas, but I didn't need, or even necessarily want, someone to talk. I just needed an outlet- someone, or something, so to speak, to listen.
     Writing became my escape- my go-to happy place. Anytime I became overwhelmed with depression or fear or just plain everyday  stress, I would resort to releasing it through writing. Many a nights, I have emptied out the deepest, darkest corners of my mind to the silenced secrecy of paper. When I write, there is no expectations. I get to control what is said, how it is said, and who gets to read what is said. Nothing I write has the guaranteed intent of being read by another's eyes. I like the privacy of writing- how I can decide that if my eyes are the only ones to get to read something I have written, then so be it.
     Without words, the world would be even more chaotic than it already is. Words could move a nation if you give them a purpose. That is, I believe, my goal- possibly my purpose, even- in life: to make a difference, no matter how big or little, with my words. I will strive everyday to share a piece of me with my words in hopes that something, whether it's one of my own personal struggles or whether it's one of my random, everyday thoughts, will inspire somebody else to achieve a cause that's much bigger than all of us.
     That concludes the  first post of my blog. I hope that this gave you some insight to me as a person and what my purpose is for starting this blog. :-)


                                                                                                  Yours Truly,
                                                                                                             Tocsi Hoosier