Aetherias Moon

by Aetherias Moon

To be creative is to take your messy feelings, put them in the kiln, and bake them until they are solid. They make more sense. It is also a form of escape, a savior for some. Creativity has always been my number one coping skill. Or well, creativity plus dissociating. As a child, I would run around making up stories in my head, and one of my earliest memories was my father telling me to imagine a story to fall asleep. I didn’t have a happy childhood and making up stories let me survive. At night I could keep the nightmares at bay with stories of warriors going to battle, or a simple romance.

I’ve always been a writer. I wrote a story before I could write, by my grandmother transcribing it for me (it was called “The Red Rainbow” and was about him finding his other colors). But at some point, I had the realization that writing fiction was just daydreaming with an extra step. It was a way for me to bring those stories I loved so much into the real world. Then my love for writing took a more proper hold. I still feel that way. I love bringing my beloved stories into reality one word at a time. It’s my greatest joy and I’ll never stop. I’ll be writing on my deathbed.

When I write, it comes from a place of need. I need to let these feelings out; I need to understand my emotions. I need to escape. I can’t write for other people. The idea of writing for an audience doesn’t make sense to me. Maybe one day I’ll learn it, but I also don’t want to.

But that also means that everything I write is a little piece of my soul captured by my pen. I’m taking a part of myself and giving it up to you with everything I share. My stories are more personal than when I sit here and tell you about myself. They contain the messiest parts of me, the stuff I don’t know how to share, but I can’t keep inside either.

Sharing them is the most vulnerable thing I could do.

But I’m doing it, and I’m proud of myself for it.

I’m not saying I’m special. I think writing is a vulnerable thing for everyone. Art is vulnerable. But that’s why it needs to be shared. What else could touch someone else’s soul and say “hey, I see you.”

But I don’t know what to do. I’m brave and strong for sharing, but I’ve also taken my safe space and went “come on in everybody.” Now it doesn’t feel so safe. At the same time, I can’t keep these stories to myself. When I write I still feel safe, but eventually I wrap my story up in a scarf and say “it’s a little scary out there, but you’re ready,” and send it out the door.

And that’s necessary, and beautiful. But how do I cope now? I know the answer. I breathe, I walk, I journal, I find comfort in my friends. I have answers, but no longer are my beautiful dreams mine alone.

Happy writing,

Aether.