Why I Write


The million dollar question.

I don’t think it’s any question that my brain is a fountain of knowledge. Well, “knowledge” wouldn’t be the right term.

My brain is my worst enemy. It has a constant struggle with how the world is working. It doesn’t understand. It can’t let things be things. So I write them out, not to seek the comfort of others to ease the confusion, but to just put it off my mind.

It doesn’t always work. Sometimes even writing it puts makes my brain hurt more. I think those are the worst moments. It’s me and the keyboard and that isolated environment just causes more thinking.

I think it’s clear now, but I struggle with existence. I lack caring about certain values of life. Mainly because I don’t think I deserve them. More so that the world has somehow decided that I shouldn’t have them.

Writing has never been about getting attention. Honestly, I could care less about how many views or reads I get per post. I’ve learned that over time, the more I post, the more likely my audience will whittle down to the ones who will actually be interested in what I have to say. There’s always one person. It’s all about consistency and the legitimacy you have in your writing. The people who consume your writing can pick up right away whether or not your heart and soul is in it. That’s certainly a factor in building your audience. People like honesty, whether they agree with what you write or not. I like making fun of myself in my writing. Makes it more entertaining. It helps to open up to the internet with whatever is on my mind. Tears down a few walls here and there.

I think if you read more, you’ll find many hypocrisies about the things I convey. I’m not surprised. My brain has never been one to be clear about the things it struggles about. Day by day it changes, but it all boils down to the same, linear problems I find with the world and myself. I think I just need more sleep.