Writing...my love lost?

Once upon a time before the age of computers, text messaging, cell phones, email, and other forms of communication technology, there was a time where one sat at a desk with pen in hand and paper before him in order to convey thoughts, feelings, and notes of importance. One had to actually move pen over paper to transfer unspoken words from the mind to readable form. Has this become a lost art form? Do you still take the time to sit at a desk or table with pen in hand and paper before you to tell your thoughts to family, loved ones, or friends? I hate to admit it, but for myself, I rarely take those few minutes to actually write a letter to someone. The ease of technology has overshadowed that antique form of communication and letter writing has gotten lost in the cyber shuffle. With computers, it is so convenient to access a word processing program or email and type those words that jump and juggle in my mind. Just one click of a button and my letter to a friend will be arriving to their inbox in seconds or minutes. My, how things have changed. Even with the convenience of these newfangled forms of communicating, I still love to feel a pen in my hand and watch as words form on the pages with movement. The end result feels more personal to me by holding the paper in my hand and reading the scribbles of ink. I have loved this feeling since I was a child. Even before I knew words and how to spell, I would pick up a pen and just doodle across the page. No comprehension to anyone else, but me. In my mind, I knew just what those squggles meant. As I got older and learned the magic of words, spelling, and grammar, words started to jump and knock about anxious to be released in some understandable form, or not. The release of those thoughts to page was as sweet as chocolate to my tongue and the pleasure just as equal. That is the beauty of words and language. As I aged over the years, so my writing changed from just simple sentences to poetic forms and stories of short nature although I never seemed to actually finish the stories. With poetry, I could express my feelings in written form and not be cumbered with thoughts jumping ahead of my hand as they did with stories. As scattered and erratic as my thoughts were so too were the papers. One page would be here while another paper would be over there. Many collections of folders with unfinished ideas jotted down in a hurry were scattered in different places. I wasn't one for organization with my thoughts as I was with my other material belongings. Somehow though I managed to not lose all of those ramblings of my mind, but just a few. Now as I am 34 years old and a working adult, I find that it is almost impossible to capture those jugglings thoughts and words as well as I could when I was younger. Work smothers my mind to the point of near death and makes it difficult to concentrate on those words that have now become distant. It is so depressing sometimes that I no longer have the desire to caress paper with a pen and form those magical swirls. This cloud has even overflowed to sitting at my desk and moving my fingers across a keyboard and shadowed my mind with darkness. Even writing this is somewhat difficult and I have to pause to collect my thoughts and how I want to convey them. With each passing therapy session, a light has appeared and seems to be growing brighter. That wonderful feeling of wanting words to flow from the closed doors of my mind has resurfaced, and I must embrace it. This is my inner being and who I am. With each revelation I am closer to finding myself and recovering those lost words and thoughts. I can now feel a need to release them to paper and feel a little braver to show them to the world.