Writing saved my life. When I was at my lowest point, I turned to writing as a way to escape. I didn't know what I was doing--heck, I didn't even know it was something I wanted to pursue long-term--but I just started putting words on the page. For years, I had stories locked in my head that kept morphing and twisting, begging me to let them out and live on a page somewhere. So I did. I was stuck in Corporate America in the years immediately before 2019, bored out of my mind. Also--though I didn't realize it at the time--I was profoundly lonely. Not close to family, no friends, no romantic relationships; it was all one big dead-end. In August of 2019, I decided to address being stuck in Corporate America by returning to school part-time, choosing to major in English with the idea that I could get a degree in TESOL and travel the world. That would make things better. After one semester part-time, I quit my job, no longer able to stand the meaningless, monotonous, third-shift desk work, and signed up for school full-time. Still, those stories remained trapped in my head, pounding on the walls to get out. In Spring 2020, I considered studying creative writing for the first time. I'd always been interested in writing--already played around a bit--and, as it turned out, I could add a minor to my degree and maintain my expected graduation date. Plus, thanks to my school charging the same tuition for 12-18 credit hours, it wouldn't cost me more to add the extra classes. The only extra thing required was my effort. So, I signed up for Fiction Writing 1, a creative writing workshop led by Prof. Bob King. That was when the scales tipped. Over the next two years, I threw myself into my work. Those stories, locked in my head for ages, finally poured out onto the page like Mozart composing a symphony. They were terrible, but they were alive, black and white, eligible to be read by someone other than myself. Those stories put me in another world, if only for a short time, and though I still hadn't realized how much I needed it, they were what kept me going. The long-term vision crystalized: to hell with TESOL, I wanted to teach creative writing. I wanted to help students with no idea what they were doing to get started. I wanted to be there for all those students who, every single day, were just trying to survive until bedtime. As of this essay, I remain in pursuit of my main goal, but I'm also pursuing writing professionally. I finished my English degree with the creative writing minor, I'm halfway through an MFA program, I attend writing workshops when I can, I talk about my experiences so far with new writers, I started a literary magazine with the mission of promoting new writers, and I keep writing. I've sent two manuscripts out on query for a literary agent. I've got multiple WIPs. Simply put, I WILL achieve my goals. In order to do this, I need to complete my MFA, and it, unfortunately, is very expensive. No university will hire me to be on faculty without an MFA. However, despite nearing the MFA finish line, this is only the beginning of my work--the catalyst that will set my career of helping people in motion. I'm better now, but I was in a dark, seemingly endless chasm when I discovered writing. I know there are others out there in the same boat. Help me to help them.