Why I Write
I write because I am scared.
I write because I want to tell you about the thing that I couldn’t tell you about if you were standing here in front of me.
I write because when I wake up in the morning my mind runs and runs and runs like a train off the track. I’m scared that if I don’t get all my thoughts down, no one will remember me.
I write because I want to do something artistic, but I can’t out of my head long enough to learn any other skills besides the ones I have now. Your brain changes when you dissociate for a year straight.
I write because writing is the only creative pursuit that makes my life better in every single way.
Sometimes, I’m nervous about the stuff that I post.
My most viewed piece on Quora last week had nearly 50k views.
That’s about what I expect something to get if it “does well” on here. I’m desensitized to that number at this point.
I’m not saying that to brag. If you were in my position, you might be too. You might also forget that 50k views mean that 50k individual people have seen something that you wrote.
When you tell a personal story, like, for example, the one about your ex-girlfriend who royally fucked up your head and the way that you view life and love, you forget that now 50k people know about the traumatic event that you’re trying to process.
Sometimes, writing makes me feel strong. It makes me feel like I have a voice. It makes me feel like I’m more than my actions and my thoughts. Writing makes me feel in control of my life.
But other times, when I write, I don’t feel better.
Sometimes, after I’m done writing I just feel like an object.
Once I hit publish, my writing isn’t about me anymore.
Once I shared the story about my ex-girlfriend, it stopped being my story. It became whatever the reader needed it to be.
That answer inspired some people. It made some people feel good. It bugged some people. It made some people feel worried about me.