Writing is the Best Medicine
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By Anonymous

I’ve heard that writing is the best medicine. That writing has the power to conquer the demons growing inside your mind. That as we place each full stop, we put an end to an issue; it’s like an imaginary instruction that must be followed. As the letters string together to form words, sentences, and in time paragraphs, maybe the situation gets easier and the demons start to fall and collapse away into a void inside the very brain itself. Never to be seen again.

Words are powerful. Powerful enough to shape entire nations and sign laws and orders far and wide. For mental health, they are a powerful antidote – a fix like nothing else.

Writing is the Best Medicine. Writing is the best medicine. When we pour out our lives, even just to a battered old journal, we share the deep, dark secrets that hold us back.

Some individuals want to vent. Scream. Angrily type away into oblivion. Type till the light turns into dark. Day to night. Span pages and pages, trying to find a solution, or even a hidden message, among the paragraphs. Some prefer to hand-write. Calmly forming each letter, building messages. Writing away to an imaginary person. A person who doesn’t judge, doesn’t care about the repeated words, badly spelt language or terrible punctuation.

Writing away to the world

Writing is an outlet that allows words and stories to be shared around the world, with many or just a few.

‘We are terrible at realising what goes on in other people’s heads, because we are so trapped inside our own.’ – Derren Brown.

And maybe writing is the best medicine because it’s a way to share the deep, dark secrets that hold us back. The mental health issues that we are too ashamed to speak of, even to those we love. The reasons why. Writing is relatable. It uses words that everyone understands. It can translate to everyone, in every language. Reaching far and wide. Sussex to South Africa. Manchester to Morocco. Rome to Rio.

Perhaps the writer can visualise the audience pausing at each full stop. Each question mark. Wondering about their own journey too. Opening the inner dialogue of discussion.

When we start to share, even with just a battered, old journal, our lives pour out, and things seem easier. We remember the milestones and battles we’ve fought to stand right there. Just in that moment. Suddenly, the future doesn’t seem quite so overwhelming, and things seem like they might just work out.

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