WRITING STYLE

These not-so-fun times aside… well, simply put, I was now needing and craving for something to hang on to. Or, everything was so uncertain that I needed something with an element of stability. I found this in my writing, it was always so dependable. No matter how dark my day was, I had this tool to lean upon, in fact, it felt very much like the blank page had become a close friend. The ear who'd always listen.

So, as such, I just tried to write something every day, and every day this was a small win, an achievement even, and this outlet always helped me to feel that little bit better. Plus, whatever I wrote, no matter how mundane it was in my eyes, I always posted it on social media. Which, I'm sure this may sound silly but this was my only voice and way of being a part of the world; yeah, it's all I had.

On a side note: it’s rather lucky that I had the technology to be able to do this, via a little sensor that I’d attached to a pair of glasses (which also didn’t have any lenses - weird), then this sensor connected to my computer enabling me to control the mouse through tiny head movements. So amazing, such a game-changer for somebody in my position.

But back to my writing style stuff… so, to start with I can't even remember what I was writing about, my main focus was output and creating. Only as time went on, I definitely noticed this content and style shift, or a pattern was forming, I was becoming much more open with sharing my disability experience and my feelings toward it. Before this change, I'd only ever really written about positive adventures and my bucket list, so I was becoming way more personal and even authentic you might say. Er, and sure it was a tad scary to start with, but what made it okay, and what was beneath this shift I suppose, honestly, I just wanted people to get to know me. My flaws, my fears, my innocence. I was so fed up with hiding.

Also, I thought that I could die, and possibly quite soon (like all my housemates), so I had absolutely nothing to lose. Well, maybe a little dignity? Meh. Still, what was happening in all my uncertainty, I kinda started to unknowingly document my journey in this rather bizarre way. I started to talk about this world that very few folks knew about let alone understood.

​To accompany these writing developments, sorta concurrently, I found that heaps of people were benefitting from these new transparent style of ramblings. The comments and feedback I was receiving was amazing, and oh so encouraging. I guess it's a bit like, as the saying goes, “when you’re feeling hopeless, help someone.”

Then, to go further with this, so my writing and perspectives were quickly becoming a healing and learning tool for others too. Again, it was because of my understanding of and the insights that I had into this distant world. I mean, sure, I had learnt many things on my journey thus far that I thought could be beneficial to others, specifically to help others struggling, so this is some of what I was starting to expand upon (so, adversity theories in conjunction with telling my own story). And, with this, what was happening on my social media, this was proving that my voice was “credible” – hm, not sure if that is the right word. Still, as a teacher of sorts, it was great for my self-worth (something that I was struggling with at the time, like because of my ill-health and level of physical dependence I felt like such a burden). So, finally, I started to get a taste that (in this “new” body) I could live up to my capabilities and personal expectations of becoming an effective human being – disability or not. So, paying it forward started to become my thing, or my next step if you will.

This “helping” quest took me down many paths, many worthwhile paths too. For instance, at this time, I began writing my first book which was later rejected by publishers, but geez I learnt a lot from this. I also started to participate in a few online support groups, more learning. Then I created a personally branded website, so, I suppose, this is when I first started to see myself and my life story as a "product." I hate to think of myself this way, so I have and do take steps to limit this.

Anyway, again back on topic… so, even as I had a blog and very distinct style of expression throughout my bucket list adventures, I'd now opened the floodgates on becoming this ventfest, say it how it is, scream it from the rooftops type writer. Which, oddly enough, very quickly I became comfortable with this station, and it was benefitting me heap both mentally and emotionally as well. I'd even go as far as saying I'd found my life purpose. So, from this point forward, I almost exclusively stuck to writing in this heart-on-sleeve type manner.

I'd write about my life, my day, my feelings, all the complexities in my life (most of which were a direct consequence of my disability) and my thoughts; in fact, writing became pretty much my only way to help people understand what I was facing every day.

Writing gave me peace, meaning and a new way of working through my stuff. I even adopted this new creed of “writing for therapy.” But what surprised me most about all this, it was what was spilling out upon the pages. Yer, through my quest for personal mental healing, I’d unintentionally become this deep thinker, who was somehow still bogan as. Weird combination. Still, people seemed to resonate with it. People were telling me that my “realness” was helping them.

​What I love about this most, and with this shift in writing style, and with what was eventually to become my rather unique writer's voice, it's all been a very organic path of falling forward. I never tried to be anybody else, I simply fumbled my way through until I settled on what felt right for me. Also, one other thing that's been incredibly important to me here, like I said a few paragraphs ago, I really do hope that I've given enough of myself so that people have had the chance to get to know me. In all my boofhead glory, I do have quite a kind heart too.

I'm much more than just a disability.