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Words of Healing: :D
Posted by Hannah, Nov 30, 2009. 1830 views. ID = 2989

Words of Healing

Posted by Hannah, Nov 30, 2009. 1830 views. ID = 2989
This post was written in 0 minutes.
I originally wrote this for a writing assignment at school but I like it a lot, so... :D
This post has been awarded 17 stars by 4 readers.

They wrote for a purpose, unknown to them, but they could feel it hiding from sight, white teeth glinting softly in the stark moonlight. None of them had met before the first meeting, yet because of their shared pain they knew each other better than anyone else. They knew from the dreams, the flashes of deep bright flames of light and color mixed in a beautiful display of memories, and the darkness of their minds, that they’d been brought together for this. This one last shot at their hopes, long hidden behind false pretenses and shoved away by common sense.

She told them to write. Anything. Everything. And they had. Once they began to write it was hard to stop. The notebooks the facilitator gave them had changed their lives. Their anger, frustration, thoughts, hopes, fears, insights and self-loathing came out effortlessly onto the dingy scraps of paper, and it felt incredible to have some power over their lives back. More than incredible. When you lose yourself as each of them had, it takes much to get some kind of sense of self back. Many tears, mistakes and fits of anger were usually the path for people on the road they were stumbling down, but not now. They finally found their niche.

The writing was art, pure and simple. The words brought beauty and love into an ugly existence. The art of writing was beautiful and yet heartbreaking, fulfilling to the core and the answer to many prayers. The prayers begging for a change in their lives they knew wouldn’t come unless they had help. Writing was a gateway to their own hearts and led them along the path of understanding others’ difficulties, instead of only focusing on their small, blind points of view. It took them from their excessive, mundane existence into the world of words, where they chose where they went from where they were.


The purpose of the diaries, the facilitator had said, was to study the private workings of their minds. She would read their entries if they allowed, and it would help them, and her, to understand what the need was that made them rebel against their minds, hearts and bodies. The need that initially led them to their addictions.

Most of them had scoffed and in sarcasm written small entries about what they’d eaten that day, if they even bothered to write at all. But something changed when Pam, a woman who rarely spoke in the meetings, read her entry from the day before. A short, simple statement the facilitator had told them, albeit in vain, to repeat every day to themselves.

“I am of infinite worth in the sight of God.” Pam’s words came out choked, her tears coating her cheeks and blurring her vision. Her voice sounded desperate, as if she was clutching to her one last dying hope with all her might. As if her life depended on it. Her hands shook and her voice died out, but everyone understood, and listened. A silence stifled the room deafeningly and a warm glow stabbed into the hearts of those around the young woman who spoke. The simple truth they’d never been able to acknowledge was now shoved painfully into their faces by this stranger.


Pam sat down on the plastic chair stiffly, shaking erratically as she held the ripped, battered notebook tightly in her clenched fists. The words were written on a page halfway through the fifty cent notebook. The facilitator suddenly realized Pam had never allowed her notebook to be read. Not once.

Since that day, the group of ten had slowly, and slightly reluctantly, trickled in with their worn notebooks each day, sharing choice excerpts of hope or failure with the group. The one try at simple writing had turned into a weekly session of tears and triumphs, laughter and heartache.

Though they were from differed social circles, they were on the same hard road to recovery, trying to take everything one small step at a time, day by day. Most had only shown up on the day Pam read her entry because they were forced by court order. Their paths had crossed perhaps on accident, or maybe fate had known all along that that day would be a life-saving moment for all of them. Their writing together and sharing of the sometimes poetic words led to healing and hope in so, so many ways.


Copyright 2009 Hannah. All rights reserved. FifteenMinutesOfFiction.com has been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work. For permission to reprint this item, please contact the author.
 


   
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Comments


Mathax
Dec 1, 2009
Funny, I just posted something I wrote for school too. :P
Great Story.
   ~Posted by Mathax, Dec 1, 2009



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