Growing up, I always felt lost; with no direction, without a map.

Everybody seemed to have an idea of where they're going except for me. Then, Junior year of high school rolled around and it was time to start searching for colleges which also meant a meeting with my guidence counselor to discuss my plans after graduation. And if that wasn't terrifying enough, I also needed to begin thinking about possible majors and what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I remember going home and breaking down in tears afraid that I'd never find my niche in life.

The future was quickly approaching and there was no avoiding it. No more running. I was driving in a car going 88 mph in the fast lane and that's all I was doing -- driving. To where? I didn't know.

Then I discovered writing and gradually, I found what I was interested in by writing articles such as the one you're reading right now. It provided me with more direction, more purpose, more fulfillment -- all things I lacked for as long as I can remember.

Unfortunately, it wasn't long until my bright blue sky turned a gloomy grey. I lost motivation. I could go to classes all day and still feel like I was wasting my days. Nothing could make me feel like I did something with my day. This time, rather than driving in the car going 88 mph, I was at a complete stop; going through the motions of life but going nowhere.

Nothing could make me feel a sense of purpose other than one thing -- writing. Having to write an article every week gave me a purpose and for a while, that was my purpose.

I was underwater gasping for air and writing was my buoy I grabbed onto. It was one of the only things helping me stay afloat long enough for somebody to come and save me. Maybe writing wasn't as crucial for my survival as a life vest or rescue boat, but it helped pull me to safety until I could make it to shore again.