"The Run On" By Samantha Brown

"The Run On"

By Samantha Brown

My obsession with the literary world began as a child; when all the desperate attempts to escape the horrid reality of my ongoing nightmare of a life had failed. If for a few moments I could throw myself into someone elses life, I would not be in my own. This granted me short lived peace of mind and security. Of course, that wishful thinking of a theory worked but only as a temporary fix to a situation that could not be resolved. It was something that I had to acknowledge, somehow comprehend and deal with. The process resulted in further reading and a new obsession, with writing. Instead of escaping into a story at the hands and ink of another, I chose to loose myself in emotion filled words to try and express my inner workings. To no surprise, the anger and pain began to worsen for now what I wanted to go away so badly was staring right at me, bringing itself to life; this gave it permanent existence. I suffered emotional anguish trying to expel the filthy rot within by utilizing my new found talent of writing and learned how to cope properly. I began to realize that there was no right or wrong to what I was writing and that I was my only critic. After all, my writing was for me not anyone else, so what i wrote had no boundaries and no set expectations. A majority of my work remained partial in completion and I did not question why that was, simply understood that was how it was meant to be. If I wrote one line and nothing more, it remained one line and I would move on. It was my thought and important enough to be written and remembered nonetheless. As I grew older, writing became a passion of mine and the reading that I had done was more of a personal comparison to what levels my talents could excel to or the style of writing suited me the most. The reading I do leisurely is mainly to feel. I enjoy nothing more than a good story or movie to which I can relate to and feel the intended emotions. Literature is an amazing thing and I respect it with honor. Words are just words that can be combined with other words to make a sentence but without emotion, it has no voice, no life and certainly no purpose. I suppose in an exaggerated sense, Authors play god; they can give life or take it away, make you remember or make you forget, make you forgive or make you regret. To me, Authors are just puppets to something greater and far more advanced than abc's and the formalities of basic grammar.



Communication was never a strong suit of mine unless it was one extreme or the other. If angry, upset or hurt, it was not a problem to express and I was dedicated in letting it be known. But it seemed as if that was the only time my voice presented itself and a clarity of communication wave length had been established. I had relied on myself and my writing for so long where I felt safe and protected; constantly living my life as a narrated story that I had never learned how to speak to someone on an intimate level in regards to how I felt or what I thought. When it came to debates or intense in depth conversations, it all seemed like an interrogation and out of reaction, I closed up like a turtle in its shell when it felt threatened. This has been an issue for a quite some time and I've come so far in improving. I used to think that everything was my fault and often times took things personally when it was never intended to be. I've developed a mind of my own and began slowly but surely, voicing it. Although it is very difficult, I try my best at getting my message or emotion to communicable level for others to understand and not misinterpret.