Escape is the first word I think of when I think of reading. When I think of writing. Escape. Avoid. Deflect. Evade. But when I take a closer look, I think of learning, exploring, uncovering, adventuring, and experiencing.
Reading and writing is a journey.
When I’m asked, “Why do you write?” There is this pressure in my heart—a warmth in my chest. There is a beating inside of me, and it screams and begs to be unleashed—to be uncaged.
It is my story. It is my life. It is me.
I’m begging to be set free.
I write because I need to. Because I have to. Because if I don’t, the pressure threatens to swallow me whole. And it can—and it will. It’s not a desire; it’s a visceral need. It’s a calling—my calling.
I write because I am. I am, because I breathe. Because I live. Because I experience. My life is a journey. My writing is a catalyst. My thoughts are a muse.
Writing is a form of expression. Of feeling, of being, of exploring. It is a door to a new reality, one much different—and completely similar—to your own. Writing is self-telling. Reading is self-discovery. I am like you, and you are like me. We are different, but we are the same.
We are human.
Writing breaks boundaries. It crosses lines and explores thoughts. It expresses what spoken word alone cannot say. I will say the things you cannot speak, the truth needing to be heard.
I write because someone will hear me. Someone who has suffered as I have, has felt as I have. Has lost, loved, or been crushed as I have. And for those who haven’t, they will see but a glimpse of the darkness. Perhaps, they will remember me. Remember my burden, my shame, my humiliation, my heartache.
There is a void in my heart, as there very well may exist one in yours. Without writing, it is hollow. Without reading, it is a chasm. Without creativity, imagination, and thought, it is darkness.
I have seen the dark, and it is fathomless. It is empty, broken—it is despair. Writing allows me to shed light on the dark. With it, I can vanquish evil. Not the evil you think I mean, either. I mean the pain in heart, mind, body, and soul. Longing. Yearning. Desiring. Needing escape. Freedom. Peace, above all else.
Words can alleviate those sorrows.
I write because I am alive. Because I am still alive, when many times, I have wished I was not. I write to make you laugh when I could not do the same for myself. To make you smile. To ease your stress and your burdens.
Because you are important, you are real, and because you matter.
My writing is not an escape—it is a path to enlightenment. Experience the truth, the horror, the reality of this world. There is more darkness than you think, more light than you know. You are a beacon of hope—a star—in your own world. Grab hold of that light, and never let go.