写作――我的灵丹妙药

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. But writing for me has been more than a professional 1）ambition. In my life it has been a 2）narcotic. Writing has eased the pain―3）genuine physical pain.

I grew up with 4）juvenile rheumatoid arthritis （JRA） which causes 5）persistent joint pain， and can 6）disrupt growth and bone development. Its sharp attacks could be 7）fleeting or prolonged， but when I was able to write―to pour out my feelings， my dreams， and my suffering on paper―the pain 8）subsided.

I remember the treatments clearly. My nostrils 9）retain the smell of alcohol 10）swabbed on my arms， legs， and 11）buttocks as nurses 12）jabbed me with needles. One by one they’d urge me to count to three. “Come on， say it with me： One！ Two！ Three！ That’s it―it’s over. It wasn’t that bad， right？” Who were they kidding？ Each visit to the doctor’s office 13）drained the life from me.

Back at home， my mother 15）peeled off my clothes. Each tug 16）intensified the pain， but I refused any pain pills. I wanted my mind absolutely clear when I wrote. I picked up the notebook on my bed.

February 2nd，

Today was something new. It was almost as if I experienced new pain. My leg feels on fire. There is a 17）throbbing ache. It sends shock waves through my entire body. I feel 18）deformed like some creature from outer space.

I continued writing in my notebook， 19）bracing it between my raised knees. The pain faded away. As I wrote， I felt the weight of the world being lifted off my shoulders. And just like that， the pain dissipated. I didn’t need any pills， I just needed my own pain relief drug： writing.

Writing was always there for me. Writing got me through the physical pain of my childhood. I remember wanting to 20）stomp， punch the walls， and scream 21）at the top of my lungs， “Why can’t I be normal like everyone else？！”

But instead of acting out violently， I turned my emotions toward my notebook. I even took it with me when I went to the eye doctor （because JRA could travel to the eyes and affect 22）vision， it was 23）mandatory for me to go to the eye doctor often）. The doctor would put these drops in my eyes that would burn， and after five minutes my vision would go completely 24）blurry.

After the visit， my mother would hold my hand tightly and guide me down the stairs and the street because I was effectively blind for a short while. I would write in my notebook with my blurry vision. I couldn’t really make out the words and that would 25）frustrate me， but I’d just keep on writing.

Growing up with JRA， I was confused at times. Why was I going to the doctor every month， taking pills and 26）injections， while other kids were at the park or with their friends？ Writing 27）presented me with an escape from these harsh realities. I would be 28）absent for a few brief moments， and when I returned I felt more powerful， less tense， less angry. I didn’t show my writing to anyone， but it strengthened me.

When I was 13， I moved to Serbia with my family. While we were living there， I 29）outgrew my JRA. I’m not sure if it went away on its own， or whether my health improved because I was outdoors more and eating healthier food. Whatever the reason， my JRA went away. My mother suggested I stop getting injections and see how things went. Finally， I started growing on my own and not from the 30）hormone shots I had to take every day.

I can’t explain how grateful I am that my JRA went away. I had become accustomed to monthly visits to the hospital and visits to the eye doctor every other month， to being extremely skinny and to seeing my mother in tears every time she injected me. I had gotten used to the everyday 31）burden of knowing that I was not a healthy， normal child. Now， all of a sudden I was a healthy teenager―eating normally， growing， and not taking any medicine whatsoever. I was happy， simply and 32）utterly happy that I was…free. I was free from the hospitals， doctors， medicine， injections， pain， everything. I was finally normal.

One thing， however， never changed： My notebook was always by my side. Writing was always there for me， lending a helping hand， a shoulder to cry on， a 33）punching bag to hit， a place where nothing else mattered but my emotions being translated into words on paper. I no longer had to write to numb my physical pain， but I continued 34）soothing emotional pain with words. I wrote about teenage heartbreak， hurt， and 35）betrayal. I wrote about the fear of growing up， and my occasional wishes to stop time.

People have asked me， “Why would you want to become a writer？ There’s no money in that field.”I give them a 36）blank look. A person who is doing what they love can greet the day with a smile. As a writer， I will be doing not only what I love， but what eases my pain and gives me a 37）refuge from the hardest things in life.

当一名作家一直是我的愿望。但是，写作对我而言并不只是一种职业志向，它还是我生活中的“麻醉剂”。写作缓解了我的痛楚――真切的身体痛苦。

我从小患有幼年类风湿关节炎（JRA），这种病会导致持续性关节疼痛，还可能扰乱身体生长和骨骼发育。其刺痛感可能转瞬即逝，也可能长期存在。然而，当我能够写作――当我可以在纸上倾诉我的感情、我的梦想和我的痛苦时，这种疼痛得到了平息。

我清楚记得接受治疗时的情景。护士用针扎我，我的鼻孔里还残留着抹在手臂、腿部和臀部的酒精味。她们会敦促我数到三：“来，跟着我说：一！二！三！好了，结束了。没有那么糟嘛，对不对？”她们是在和谁开玩笑？每次去完医生的诊室，我都奄奄一息。

回到家里，妈妈帮我脱去衣服。每次扯动衣服，都会加剧痛楚。但我拒绝服用任何止痛药，因为我希望在写作时头脑能够保持绝对清醒。我拿起了床上的笔记本。

2月2日

今天又有新东西。我似乎体验到了一种新型的疼痛，我的腿感觉像火烧一样，痛楚一阵一阵的，像冲击波一样袭遍我的全身。我感觉自己好像某种来自外太空的生物一样，形状怪异。

我把笔记本支在屈起的膝盖中间，继续书写。疼痛渐渐消退了。写作时，我感到整个世界的重量都从我的肩上被拎走了。就这样，疼痛消散了。我不需要任何药物，我只需要我自己的止痛药――写作。

写作一直支持着我，陪伴我熬过童年时身体的痛苦。我记得曾经痛得直想捶墙跺脚，放声嘶吼：“为什么我不能像正常人一样？！”

但我没有以暴烈的方式去发泄，而是把情绪导引到笔记本中。甚至当我去眼科就诊时（因为JRA可以触及眼部，影响视力，所以必须定期去眼科就诊）也会带上笔记本。医生会把一些有灼烧感的药物滴进我眼里，5分钟后，我的视力就会完全模糊。

每次看完医生，妈妈总会紧紧握住我的手，牵着我下楼走在街上，因为我的眼睛实际上处于暂时失明状态。我就借着这模糊的视力在笔记本上写作，尽管看不清楚自己所写的字句，这点很令人沮丧，但我仍然继续书写。

在JRA的影响下成长，我常常感到困惑。为什么我每个月都要去看医生、打针吃药，而其他孩子却可以逛公园或者和朋友们一起玩？而写作使我得以逃离这些严酷的现实，喘息片刻。我会短暂地心不在焉，当我回到现实中时，就会感觉自己更坚强了，不再那么焦躁和愤怒了。尽管我没有给任何人看过我写的东西，但写作仍使我变得坚强。

13岁时，我和家人搬到了塞尔维亚。在那里生活期间，我的JRA消失了。我不知道是它自己走了，还是由于我待在户外的时间多了，以及吃着更健康的食品，健康状况有所改善的缘故。无论如何，总之我的JRA消失了。妈妈建议我停止打针，看看情况怎样。最后，我终于开始依靠自己的生命力成长，而不必借助每天必须注射的激素了。

我无法描述我对病愈一事是何等心存感激。我已经习惯了每个月都去医院看病、每隔一个月就要到眼科就诊；我已经习惯了自己瘦骨嶙峋的体型，习惯了看到妈妈每次给我打针时总是泪流满面；我已经习惯了每天都意识到自己不是一个健康正常的孩子的心理负担。现在，忽然之间，我变成了一个健康的少年――饮食正常，健康成长，不必服用任何药物。我感到如此幸福，彻底而纯粹的幸福――我……自由了。我终于摆脱了医院、医生、吃药、打针、疼痛等一切的痛苦。我终于正常了。但是有一件事情从未改变：我的笔记本一直陪伴着我。写作一直支撑着我，就像一双随时向我伸出的援手，一个随时让我哭泣的肩膀，一个随时让我发泄痛击的沙包。在这里，其他事情都不重要，重要的只有我的情感能被转换成纸上的文字。虽然我已不再需要依靠写作来麻痹我身体上的痛苦，但我仍继续用文字疏解我情感上的痛苦。我写过少年时代曾经经历过的心痛、伤害和背叛，写过对成长的恐惧，还有偶尔想让时间停止的愿望。

人们问我：“你为什么想成为一名作家？这个行当和钱一点边儿都沾不上。”我只是面无表情地看着他们。一个人如果做着自己热爱的事，他就能微笑着迎接每一天。作为一个写作者，我所做的事不仅是我所喜爱的，而且它还消除了我的痛苦，给了我一个避难所，逃离生活中最严酷的事。