I never considered myself a storyteller.

At some point, I just knew I had no other choice.

I was facing rock bottom.All the color had drained from my life.I was alone. Fully. Utterly. Alone.

And then, one morning, I woke up and picked up a pen.I didn’t plan it. I didn’t think.I just couldn’t resist.I had to write.I had to say all the things I’d been carrying inside me for too long.I had to get them out.

Writing became my therapy.

My way of staying alive.

My only form of survival.

And from that day on, there hasn't been a single one without at least a few lines on paper.

What started as fragments of thought slowly turned into stories.Stories that found their form in words, in images, in music, in film.Stories that gave my pain a voice.

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Today, I tell them for others.

To be, maybe, what I needed most in my darkest hours.