I like words. Reading them, writing them. I like transforming thoughts and emotions into communication. My brain likes it. My heart likes it.
I started blogging almost two years ago when my heart and my head ached. When I made such poor choices with men and sex that I was chipping away at one part of myself while burying another part.
I believed I had moved on from many of those choices, from many of those men. I learned a lot, and I kept writing. I write vignettes. A slice of my life, my brain, my soul. I write about whatever bubbles to the surface, certainly whatever boils over.
Brutal truth? I did move on from many of those choices, from many, although not all, of those men. But sometimes my head and my heart still hurt. And that is why I keep writing.
We write because we all have issues. When we face those head on, admit our imperfections and weaknesses, it makes us stronger.
We write because until there is a cure, this is our treatment.
We write not because we have so much to teach you, but because we have so much to learn.
We write because putting it into words makes it sometimes far less scary and sometimes far more funny. And it always makes us feel less alone.
I know why I write, why we write. I would ask, why do you read? But I think the answer to that can also be found in the words above.
3 Comments
November 7, 2009 at 8:15 pm
Until there is a cure, this is our treatment… writing and wine. It is, of course, debatable whether the later aids the former or simply creates more subjects for it.
November 8, 2009 at 12:44 am
i second refugee’s remarks. nice to know that this treatment heals such a variety of hurts, too.
November 12, 2009 at 4:35 pm
I write for those very same reasons, and read for them as well.