A few days ago, someone asked my why I write. Shrugging my shoulders, I simply responded there wasn’t really a reason. It’s just something I do in my spare time.
But, since then, this has been stuck in my head and each time I write, I find myself thinking about it. Why DO I write?
Maybe its my way of expressing my views, opinions, and thoughts. Maybe its how I show my creativity. There are countless amazing reasons why I could be writing, but if I’m honest the reason I write is none of these.
I write because I’m lost and alone. I write because I feel so unsure about my real life and the things I’ve done that I want to escape and forget. I write because I’ve forgotten how to trust and have no one in my real life to talk to. I’m so desperate for approval, I want so badly to be somebody instead of an unknown face. But, at the same time, I’m so scared of rejection. That’s why I write.
Writing gives me something I need. It gives me a chance to really be who I am. For these few minutes that I write these posts, I can control my thoughts and focus them where I want. I can imagine that somewhere there’s somebody who will read this and understand me. All of me.
But, that’s only when I’m blogging. When I write my books and stories, I write for a completely different reason. This time, writing becomes more of a drug. Its not so much about writing to be understood, its more about creating an escape for myself. I write to create a world besides the one I live in, one that lets me be everything I could possibly dream of. I forget everything I really am, I am completely absorbed by my writing. I don’t just imagine my characters, I pour my very soul into them. I am my writing.
Maybe I could say I write to express myself, that wouldn’t be entirely a lie. But more than that, I crave the control and absolute power I have when I write. I crave the disconnection with reality and the chance to escape into a reality that is invisible to everyone else.
Why do I write? Because I’m addicted, it is my drug.
So, why do you write?