Writing is a drug.

Never would I have imagined myself coming back to writing after I swore it took over my life -- in the wrong way. My parents convinced me that it wasn't worth all the time I was putting into it. They told me time and time again that the hours I spent weekly on writing could go to school work and looking for a job. But when I went even a day without plotting and planning a new chapter, my hands shook and I became jittery. Like it was a drug I couldn't get over.

That's what it became in my mind. Something harmful. Something that would hurt me. After being brainwashed by my parents, I began thinking as they did. The tremors began to fade and the thoughts started to disappear. I even stopped reading for pleasure, scared it would bring back the habit that used to be writing. I would even purposely fail English papers just so I wouldn't have to write -- fearing anything to do with it would bring back that itch.

But two months ago, I began filling out college applications. On one paper application, they asked if I had any personal achievements I would like to share. After thought, I wrote down that I was a published poet (mind, it's only one small poem but I'm very proud of it). It got me thinking again. Was I truly happy ignoring the love of writing I still had?

No, I wasn't. So I began writing again, just small stories and little poems. I hadn't written in almost two years, my ideas were lack and dry. But as I began reading again and writing down the little things that I noticed during the day, I began to find inspiration in life. I began writing again.

I might be addicted to a drug... but it is worth the time I spend.

My friends even began commenting that I looked and acted happier since I started writing again.