The 6yr Old Psychic

Writing was my first escape. An escape from my harsh reality that nobody knew about but me.

Teachers were sure this little six year old couldn’t possibly have imagined this perfectly written essay.

I could feel her eyes on me as I let my thoughts grace my lead for a second attempt. Since she didn’t believe such a tiny brain could create such perfection at home.

The gift to amaze my audience never dwindled after that day. Who knew I’d grow up to live out every sentence I ever wrote?

Writing was my first escape. An escape from the harsh reality inside the perfect little world we like to call “childhood”.

Imagine dwindling away by the second, under the seventy-five degree sun rays. A little, misty drizzle of rain and a rainbow slowly showing its frown, deteriorating into sugar particles and sparkling glitter shimmer.

That was the fantasy this six year old girl began to have during daydreams and random, deep thoughts. When she would catch baby turtles on their daily strolls throughout her perfect neighborhood, she wondered how she could help them move just a little bit quicker. “Life must be so boring, going so slow.” She would think.

Now, I can’t remember half of what I do each day. Moving at the speed of life. Nothing like a turtle. More like a determined cheetah. All the while, accomplishing the least. SIGH.

I managed to keep a strong grip on writing. I knew if I lost that, I’d lose everything, including myself. I’d lose the intense emotion I feel only, when I’m on a roller coaster. How numb and out of touch someone must be with the world, to never really feel unless they’re bringing their thoughts to life.

I stopped writing for a few years, while holding on to the poetry, stories and songs I had written in what seems to be now, another life. I’m sure you are wondering why. Well, my life experiences became too similar to the beautiful tragedies that my imagination began to birth. I found myself becoming weak to the addiction of masking the facts or fantasizing that it was someone else’s life. I would subconsciously take my life and make it fictional. Soon, every sentence would play out in front of me. It became to feel like a tease from life and death. Was I living? Or was I doing? I couldn’t figure it out.

So here I am. Writing again. Writing the rest of my days, I guess. It doesn’t seem to be looking too good at the moment. But I’ve figured out what the emptiness was. I’ve been at a stand still. Confusion. What direction do I go in?...and it came to me! I WOULD NEVER KNOW UNTIL I BEGAN TO WRITE AGAIN. Enjoy!

“WRITING WAS MY FIRST ESCAPE. An escape from the harsh reality that would consume my future and spit out my past for the world to see.”