writer autobiography first person

It has been a very long time, way before last semester anyway, that I’ve written anything. Not that I ever really wrote anything per se but I did dabble with a few spiral note books and a pencil during my high school years. I remember reading through them in my mid twenties and thought to myself, wow, was I ever messed up. I was a very frustrated teen; anger and depression haunted me for years. There was a lot of shit going on in my head back then; in it, too. And the writing I did in those notebooks expressed those emotions. To this day I couldn’t tell you why I was so angry but, that’s history. I’m not that person any more. I’ve learned not to dwell on the past; I am very happy and have way moved on from that period of my life. I think I may have actually thrown those journals out after reading them, just in case my daughter ever found them. Kind of ironic, because she did end up writing those kinds of journals but that topic is for another day.
I’m thinking out loud while I type because I want to figure out what kind of writer I am, too. I don’t think I’m a fantastic writer (yet) but I do OK. I believe I would enjoy writing more if I had more time in my day, though. Writing under pressure will/has shut my brain down periodically, especially when I’m pressed for time. It is no fun having to write like that, under those circumstances. I’ve prepared myself and have designated “my writing time” so I can sit back and enjoy what I’m doing/writing and not get stressed out because of time constraints.
I’m quite pleased to be fortunate enough to have had a story published in the Eyrie last semester and I’d like to try for another, and if anyone is going to get me there, John, it will be you…you and me.