Outbreaks Of a Depressive

Several dawns, I drowned myself in tears, thinking about life and all my concepts...
Fear and despair took over my soul for long days, I could not find an outlet for my thoughts, or concrete conclusions about my concepts and precepts, then I took a pen and paper, there were seven pages of feelings passed in clean, hoping to get them organized, and it worked, I found no explanation for everything I feel and think, but I managed to calm the soul, I could organize my thoughts.
At the end of seven pages I wrote as follows:

It's good to let off steam, writing is more than just therapy, it's a meeting with the soul
It's listening to it and putting down on paper what it cries out, it's searching deep down inside, hidden feelings.
It is these hidden feelings that disturb us unconsciously and consciously.
These feelings of cowardice, fragility, hurt, resentment...
To write for me is to stop being dominated by these feelings and to manage them in a way that they don't destroy me psychologically,
It is to give comfort to the soul, it is the search for inner peace, for the point of equilibrium.
At the end of my words and of my literary vent.