My name is Beautiful Blackwater. Physically, I am fifteen years old, but I always feel much older than I really am. Or perhaps I am simply older than my body is. Either way, the thought of a concrete age determined by the number of years I have been on this earth is a foreign one to me.
When I was younger, I was loud. I was outgoing and vibrant, in the middle of my every social scene. But not anymore. I am quiet now, like vines growing on a wall.
When I lost my outgoing vibrancy, I stopped using my voice. Oh, I spoke, but I did not speak my mind and my heart. I did not reveal my soul to anyone except those closest to me, or the rare individual who caught me at just the right moment to prompt me from my introspection to the spoken word.
For a long time, I did not truly live. I simply existed, doing everything I was supposed to do. I got up. I slowly dragged myself to my computer, sat down, and worked the day away, writing papers and discussion posts for college. When I was done, I knew I should do something that would be worthwhile. Something to further my writing career, or to help others, or maybe even both. But by the time my work was over, my motivation to do anything other than binge watch one of my favorite tv shows had been sapped dry.
Now, however, I am relearning what it means to live and breathe. What it means to speak. What it means to draw in a breath and relish it, the feeling of being alive. What it means to want something so badly that I’ll shove aside the fatigue from a long day of schoolwork to create something beautiful. What it means to genuinely want to help others rather than squandering my writing and empathy on made up tales and people.
This process of relearning living is, for me, caught up in this blog. One day, in the middle of changing cat litter, of all things, I got the idea to create an anonymous blog where people like me could speak about their experiences, thoughts, and feelings. I was not — am not — brave enough to speak about the things that mean most to me when my face and name are attached to my words. After a couple weeks filled with brainstorming and planning and worrying and seeking advice and prayer, I was told to have strength and courage, and I knew it was time to begin.
I am still quiet. I am still shy. I still have not found the courage I need to speak my heart aloud. But then, I do not need to speak. Not yet, at least. Perhaps someday I will. For now, though, I will write. I will bleed my heart out on paper and hope that someone will benefit from it. I will live as best I can. And perhaps it will be beautiful.
I look forward to this journey with you.
Love, Beautiful Blackwater.