Writing is my therapy.

You know how you have some horrible days when everything goes haywire and you feel you're breathing havoc? Yeah? What does a nominal person do to calm himself down? Take a walk, get in the shower may be, play with a pet, bawl in agony?

Well, I write.

I write not just to make myself feel better but because it helps me anatomize the situation. When I sit to write, thoughts don't flow, it pours. It pours like a mad man screaming from the middle of a street. Some other times I have a brain freeze. I cannot comprehend my own thoughts. I need to pause my wrecking mind in order to think; and because I look forward to penning it down, I think harder. I play my life in slow-mo, never skipping a scene as memory serves.

I continue thinking about what I should have done. I think of the possibilities, I think of my trail of thoughts in that situation. Basically, my need to write is not just an ardent desire but my catalyst for self-examination. Without a doubt every time I have completed writing a piece, I have felt liberated and redeemed. My best friends are my words. I knit them with the song in my heart and tune them to the thoughts in my mind.

Writing is meat to my muscle, cure to my sorrow and joy to my heart.