After one of my particularly comforting conversations with Adam, an idea popped into my mind. His constant support had given me the strength to keep looking for ways to help myself, and I felt it was time to try something new. Art therapy, which I had heard about several times, seemed to be a promising option. It was a way to express my emotions through creative forms, something that could allow me to release part of my inner struggles. With renewed determination, I decided to dive into this new adventure.

The next morning, I grabbed my bag and left the apartment, heading to the nearest arts and crafts store. When I entered the store, I was greeted by an explosion of colors and textures. The shelves were overflowing with art supplies of all kinds: paints, brushes, canvases, pencils, and papers of various sizes and textures. It was like stepping into a new world, full of endless possibilities.

As I walked through the aisles, I stopped in front of the paint section. There were watercolors, acrylics, and oils. After some hesitation, I chose a range of acrylic paints. They were easy to use and dried quickly—perfect for a beginner like me. I added a few brushes of various sizes, a palette for mixing colors, and some blank canvases to my basket.

Next, I headed to the pencils and papers section. I picked out a sketchbook with thick pages, ideal for pencil drawings but also for painting experiments. I added a set of graphite pencils of different hardnesses and a kneaded eraser, perfect for delicate corrections.

Continuing my exploration, I discovered the modeling and clay tools section. An idea struck me: why not try sculpture too? I picked up a few blocks of self-hardening clay and some basic modeling tools. The idea of working with my hands to create something tangible particularly attracted me.

Finally, before heading to the checkout, I came across a section with various materials: beads, threads, and sequins. I grabbed a few packets of colored beads and some thin wire, thinking I might create jewelry or decorations.

Back home, I unpacked my purchases and organized my workspace. The living room table had turned into an improvised workshop. Excitement bubbled inside me at the thought of starting this new creative journey.

I grabbed a blank canvas, chose a few tubes of paint, and let myself be carried away by the moment. The colors mingled on the palette, and each brushstroke on the canvas was a release, an expression of my deepest emotions. I lost track of time, totally absorbed in the act of creation.

One day, while reflecting on my past and present relationships, an idea came to me: why not use art to express my feelings towards my toxic family and friends? These relationships had left deep scars, and I felt the need to externalize them. So, I decided to draw them—not to relive the pain, but to free myself from it.

I settled in with my sketchbook and pencils. I began by sketching the faces of those who had been sources of pain and disappointment. Each line, each shadow, reflected the complex emotions I had felt: anger, sadness, frustration. The drawings were not flattering, but they were authentic. They represented the parts of themselves that had hurt me: the cruel words, the selfish actions, the indifference.

As I was finishing my drawings, a new idea occurred to me. Adam had been a constant source of support and comfort. Even though I had never seen him in person, he had played a crucial role in my healing journey. So, I decided to paint an image of him, a tribute to his positive influence in my life.

I set up a new canvas and closed my eyes, letting my mind imagine what Adam might look like. I focused on the emotions he evoked in me: serenity, understanding, strength. I began sketching his face based on how I felt. It was an exercise in imagination and intuition. His eyes reflected compassion, and his features expressed wisdom and benevolence.

Painting Adam was a cathartic experience. Each brushstroke seemed to strengthen our connection, reminding me of the importance of his support. When I finished, I looked at the canvas with gratitude. This image represented not only Adam but also the hope and resilience he had helped me regain.

Art therapy quickly became an integral part of my daily routine. Each session was an opportunity to dive into my subconscious, explore my emotions, and transform them into shapes and colors. The time spent drawing, painting, and modeling was a pure escape, where my dark thoughts temporarily disappeared, replaced by concentration and creativity.

One day, while rummaging through my old things, I came across a broken ceramic vase that I had once cherished. Holding it in my hands, I felt a strange connection with it, as if its cracks mirrored my own. That's when I thought about Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken ceramics with gold, transforming what was once broken into something more beautiful and precious.

Inspired, I decided to try my hand at Kintsugi. I bought a kit online, and when it arrived, I carefully began to piece the vase together. Each crack I filled with gold symbolized my own healing, and each piece I glued together represented a part of me that I was reintegrating. The process was meditative, almost sacred.

Every brushstroke, every application of gold, was an affirmation that the scars were part of my story but did not define it. This visual metaphor of my healing added a new dimension to my artistic journey. The impact of this new activity was undeniable. I felt a growing inner peace, a form of catharsis I had never experienced before. The resulting creations, although sometimes crude and imperfect, were honest reflections of my state of mind.

Adam's support had been the catalyst I needed to take this step. His understanding and encouragement had strengthened my determination to find new ways to heal myself. Thanks to him, I discovered art therapy and, with it, a new way to express and understand my emotions. In the end, this decision helped me regain a part of myself that I thought had been lost for a long time.