A Day, a Lifetime

9:00. I get up. I make tea - strong pu-erh - and prepare breakfast. I do stretching exercises while the tea is cooling down. Then I sit down to drink, lost in thoughts or chatting with my boyfriend. I wash myself, dress up and start to write.

…

I was fascinated by the letters and words ever since I can remember. My parents used to read me bedtime stories, and when I understood that those black squiggles on a white page actually mean something, I wanted in on the magic. I remember my parents showing me the letter 'A' in a children's book. Soon I learned more.

I began to read letters, words, and soon books. And then nobody could stop me. I spent my time with my nose buried in this or that book, happily lost in the imaginary worlds. It's my solace from the real world that is hard to understand and difficult to live in.

…

13:00. I start getting hungry. If I'm lucky, there is food left from the previous days. If not, I throw together rice and some vegetables and start cooking. I get back to my writing and forget about everything until I smell something burning and I jump up to save the lunch. I eat and I write some more.

…

When I was two years old, I toddled in my aunt's big library and happily exclaimed "Books!"

When I was three years old, my kindergarten teacher almost fainted when I asked what's for lunch and my mom just nonchalantly lifted me up and told me "Read it yourself."

When I was five years old, I started writing a diary - with big, clumsy, upper case letters. If you’d put a scrap of paper in front of me, I would fill it with words. I would announce to my parent's friends, with all the self-importance of a young child, that one day I'm going to write a book. That dream is still waiting for me.

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15:00. I go out on my regular walk. There is a meadow near our house that I love. I usually go there, sit down for a bit if the weather is nice, and think. Sometimes I write. I need the daily walks to stay sane. It's my method of relaxation - just me and nature.

…

I went to college to study nature. I majored in vegetation ecology, because I love plants and ecology was always an interesting subject for me. But when I was there, I found out that I'd much rather just observe and appreciate nature rather than dissect and examine it.

A lot of aspects of college were stressful. My severe anxiety and depression got in the way a lot and it was a battle for me to finish. When I finally graduated, I was too exhausted to search for a regular job. Instead I thought about what I can do well and then started writing. I found this and that odd writing gig and soon I was freelancing.

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17:00. I get back from the walk, rummage through the fridge to put together dinner, and then it's book time. My favorite time.

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I lost myself in my writing as much as I did in reading. I started to interact with the written word more and more, from many possible angles. All of the side hustles I did in college had something to do with books, from editing to translating. Now I was writing articles of my own - and got paid for it.

I started going to a creative writing class. I learned to finish my stories. I discovered the thrill of writing contests. I sometimes scored second or third place and got published.

I became addicted.

...

19:00. My boyfriend finishes his work and we talk or watch YouTube together. We watch American comedians, Japanese vloggers, and if we are in need of a good laugh, then it's time for Would I Lie to You. Sometimes we watch educational videos. Sometimes we just need some playing kittens and puppies. After the commotion of the day we are free to do as we please.

…

I love my job because it gives me freedom. The freedom to express myself through the words I write. The freedom to create. The freedom to make my own schedule.

I love it because it lets me do my favorite thing - to bury myself in reading and writing. It's exciting to create something from nothing just by the power of your thoughts. The simple act of putting words on paper has a calming effect. And there is nothing like the feeling when I produce something that I'm really proud of.

I don't exactly save the world with my writing, but I know that words have power. Power that can change people's lives. I write about a rare medical condition. "I'm not alone in this? I'm not imagining things?"

Power to change people's mind. I write about the Staffordshire bullterrier. "So they are really not scary fighting dogs, but cuddly sweethearts?"

Power to make someone feel better. I write about mindfulness and directing our thoughts to appreciate what we have rather than be frustrated by what we don't. "Oh, I'm tired, but the sun is shining and this flower by the road is so beautiful!"

...

21:00. We prepare for the night. I read some more. And then it's bedtime. Time for dreams that carry me to a different place, wilder and even more beautiful than the books I consume in such quantities.

…

Three years ago, the anxiety finally won. I had a breakdown, and after that, I stayed broken. I can't do many of the things I was used to. I can't meet with more than one person at a time, and even then, it drains me. I can't ride public transport. I can't make phone calls. I can't concentrate. And I can't write. Oh, I can do it sometimes, and it feels every bit as good as before. But I'm no longer able to do it reliably, steadily, and in such a quantity that would allow me to make a living. I can't do my job.

Lately, I got diagnosed with autism and ADHD and suddenly I found myself benefitting from the words written by those who walked this particular road before me. Oh, so it hasn't been my fault all along? I'm discovering myself, bit by bit.

I'm still waiting to get better. The meds and therapy can do only so much for me. I'm hoping that time will heal everything. But, oh, if only it could take less time than years! Years during which I can't live my life. Years during which I'm dependent on my partner. Years during which I feel horrible every day.

But I'm fighting to get my life back, bit by bit. And I believe that every day I'm a bit closer.