When I was a teenager, I wrote poems when I was sad, hurt, depressed.  I felt so isolated, so alone, that I needed to find a way to express my pain.  I do not ever recall sharing these feelings or poems with anyone.

When I read them weeks later, I thought they were beautiful, and I was impressed with my ability to express myself.

I did not keep them.  This is not a shock as I have never been a keeper of things.

Over the course of years I discovered, first as a high school teacher, and then as a psychologist, that I was not alone.  Many adolescents expressed their feelings through poetry.  I also learned that much music is written during emotional downs.  I encouraged people to hold on to their writings so they could read them at a later time in their lives.

As an adult I realized I handle sadness, hurt, and depression differently now.  I cry.  I reflect.  I indwell.  I ponder memories.  But I have no interest in creatively expressing feelings.  The pain does not feel as intense.  I do not feel isolated or alone.

As I have in many ways, I have changed.