Personal Creative Writing

I had never known what the power of healing was until I was in high school.  My drama teacher assigned us to write a monologue about a personal life experience that was hard to overcome.  I chose to write about sexual assault, this was the first time I was able to use creativity as a tool to overcome a personal life experience and I truly believe that it helped me heal. I enjoy sharing this piece with others because it is a way of sharing what I was going through at the time.  When I compare the monologue to where I am in life right now, I know I have come leaps and bounds from this point in my life.  I hope this monologue will inspire others to use creative writing as a tool of expression, and as an asset to their journeys of healing. 

I am a liar. 

You’re a liar. 

We are all liars. 

People lie for all sorts of reasons: to protect others from the truth, but mostly to protect oneself.

It’s funny, watching things you used to love as simple as music and movies turn into the trigger of a gun.

 Setting the scene to your traumatic experience:

Images that are locked deep down in a box, that get hurled to the surface,

 almost rolling off the tip of your tongue. 

All you can do is swallow the tears and force them back into that box.

It’s amazing to watch perspectives of people change over time.

 What once was responsible for plastering a smile across your face, now, vanishes in an instant at the very thought of him.

 Forcing my stomach to turn 

sending a flash of memories that flood my thoughts and take me back to the past. 

The past that haunts my thoughts,

 the ones no one knows because I keep them locked in that box way down inside of me. 

I was 15.

 Young and naïve. 

The world was at my fingertips. 

He was friends with my friends, charming, funny and easy to talk to.

 I melted just at the sight of him. 

I was so happy to find someone that liked me for me.

Most of the time lying works, but on occasion his face appears, or something that reminds me of him and chills race up and down my body 

and I lose track of what I am doing. 

I don’t know how or why it happened? 

All I know is that it did. 

I will never forget the feeling. 

The feeling of being taken advantage of, letting myself think what happened, could never happen to me, even though I knew it did. 

Especially letting myself forgive him, after all he did to me.

I never heard a word from him again.
He got what he wanted, and the interest he once had in me faded.

If you were me, you’d lie too.

-Sam Bentson

          I chose to share this piece because it shares some of the struggles, but also the hope and empowerment through creative writing.  It is important to have creative writing because you don't have to tell the story to someone who is judging and deciding legal actions or punishments--it is simply for yourself.  It fosters your own growth and healing in however you want to personally express yourself.  There is a feeling of empowerment when you can share and say what you want instead of what someone else needs or wants to know to fill out a form.  Imagery through words help me express myself, but also feel connected to others--and that is another benefit of creative writing.

I sit in a brown paper bag in the back of a dark closet.

I’m a beautiful spring orange,

Both flattering and flirty.

A contrast of light in the dark night.

I would make anyone feel beautiful.

My flowing fabric, gathered perfectly at her waist.

Showing off her gentle curves.

Was this because of me?

Made her too desirable to a stranger.

Torn off by someone else.

Someone that didn’t belong…

Someone that would change everything…

She didn’t want him there.

I was just torn off and thrown to the floor.

Witnessed this terrible violence,

The tears; the fleeing of a stranger.

I now sit in this brown paper bag… just waiting.

I was once a beautiful spring orange dress,

But now I’m evidence.

Evidence from that night…

That night that will never leave her heart.

That night that keeps her from trusting again.

That night that he stole a piece of her.

That night that changed everything.

That night I stopped being just a dress.

I am no longer just a dress,

no longer an object to throw to the ground

I am ready to leave this place of darkness

to break free of the barriers of this paper bag.

I’m ready to give someone else a chance.

I am beautiful, I am flirty, I am bountiful

I am a new beginning.

I am ready.

That night I stopped being just a dress. 

-Emily Edwards