Every morning I wake up and journal for about three pages. I have been doing this since May and it has become a ritual that I can’t live without. Writing is saving my life. I have found many ways to strengthen as a writer, one of them being continuing to write on this blog and I am grateful to all of you who are reading this.

It feels so good to be supported by my community. I have been reveling in my volunteer time at the library because this is one way that I am connecting with the community in my current life. We have stopped doing the farmers market and I miss seeing the folks that I commune with weekly at that event. But it is hard to avoid community here on Lopez Island. It is at the coffee shop and the grocery store, the ferry line, the beach, the Galley and the library. Everywhere I go, I speak to someone who has supportive words to say to me about my life and this is so rewarding.

I am hard on myself. I am a worrier, and I have struggled with my latest psychotic break and the changes that have ensued because of it. I left my job of three and a half years and have found it difficult to work at all beyond a couple of hours a week. My Ego has been at war with me and I still struggle daily with symptoms; anxiety in many flavors of the word.

Writing has been my grounding point during these months of recovery. Every morning I sit with my coffee, and I just let whatever is in me flow. These words in my journal are not for anyone to see, they are just for me, writing for the pure purpose of writing; writing in its essence. I cannot fully explain it; though the book “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron would support it. This journaling has been a transformative process. It has been a companion, a friend. I have learned to crave the pen on the paper, the rhythmic jotting down of thoughts, some deep, some frivolous.  I am grateful to my journal. I am grateful to have emerged a happy person through much hardship. And maybe I am on my way to greater things, but maybe this is enough, because it feels perfect.