Writing about other people’s experiences with individual loss is exhausting, but unfortunately, it’s becoming a more regular occurrence in my journey through school.

Part of me loves how cathartic it feels, but papers are due when they’re due, and sometimes opening old wounds hurts. When it happens, it’s involuntary. You don’t get to choose; you just have to teach yourself to put your head down and go.

As a literature major, you get to read some of the most emotion evoking works available, real heavy stuff sometimes. That’s fine, but analysis is only half of studying lit.

If you’ve ever taken a lit course, you already know, “What story stuck out the most to you?” How did this part of the book make you feel?” What do you find yourself identifying with the author about? Post specific examples”. These are just a few of the themes that require you to look at your own experiences, in order to really feel what the author feels in certain moments, and it can be a lot.

As previously mentioned, there is a certain amount of soul-baring required in some of my courses in order to fully participate. While I love being able to go on the emotional ride with the author, having to write about my own experiences in that setting is difficult.

Today, for instance, I am in the middle of writing a paper on individual stories related to loss. I lost my parents as a child and then became various people’s burden, so yeah, I got some experiences that’ll line up with the author, and while I know talking about these things equals A’s and professor references, as well as other writing opportunities, today is not the day.

My parents have been gone for a very long time. I went through therapy and medication, as well as personal changes and it is not something that spills over into my everyday life the way it was before I tackled the trauma. Doing that took me far longer than I care to admit at the moment.

Needless to say, it is something I can openly discuss without losing it, and I have had multiple people over the years that I have helped process the loss of a parent. So why is it when I am analyzing and writing about an individual’s pain that mine comes back?

I’m not talking “I feel sad” mind you, this is a raw, deep, untouchable sadness. It is so permanently entrenched in my heart that no light gets to it and it cannot heal.

This little piece of darkness is what propels my best writing, and writing in general is the only way I’ve ever been able to fully wrap my head around such a wound.

While I appreciate how, when I go deep inside myself that my writing improves, honestly, I’m hoping someday I’ll write enough words where the pain goes away. Then I’ll do NES game reviews on YouTube with the other tired millennials.

Until next time, friends, stay crescent fresh,

J.T.