Why do I write? That is a question that seems so simple and as though it should be so easy to answer. People have asked me why I journal, why I like writing, what the point of it is… There’s no easy or all encompassing answer.

I have kept a journal since I was 11. I am now 19.

I write to remember. There are days I go back through my numerous journals and I skim the pieces. I sometimes have memories that are as sharp as knives, but other times I run across memories which are lost to me in all other means except for those on paper.

Sometimes, I write for clarity. There are many times I turn to my journal in times of confusion, distress, or anger. I don’t know exactly how I’m feeling about something until I sit down for an hour and write anything that is coming to my mind. Later, when I go back and reread the entry, I have no idea I was feeling so much during that moment in time. Only after I spend an hour filling blank pages does my hand begin to cramp and my emotions begin to abate.

Sometimes… I write to save myself.

There were so many times when I was growing up where I wanted to remember a certain moment… lock it down forever. Document it through words on a page. I wanted to capture the entirety of forever and I wanted to be able to look back on the words. In a way, I have been writing personal narratives encompassing sensory details and dialogue long before I knew I was even doing so. There were so many moments I knew I never wanted to forget – so I recalled them to the best of my ability and recorded them.

I write to confide. There were times in my life I felt I had nobody to talk to. I felt so misunderstood and half the time I didn’t even know what I was feeling. It’s hard to ask someone for help and to listen when you’re not even sure what you want them to help with or listen to. I grew accustomed to writing my explicit thoughts down on paper – even if I couldn’t or wouldn’t ever say them aloud.

Most times… the thoughts I wrote in my journal were thoughts I never knew how to present. I’m afraid to speak some of them out loud because I fear once I do they will no longer hold meaning.

I write because I need an outlet to analyze myself. My feelings. To see why I feel the way I feel. There are times I don’t even know or understand my own thoughts and emotions. So I write to understand.

I think that is all I can do when I write. Anything that is personal which other people read, I have first written to understand for myself. Not so other people can share in the moment or relate to what I’m saying, but so I have an idea of what I’m feeling. What I’m saying. What I’m doing.

Does there even always have to be a meaning or a purpose? Can’t writing just be?

Why does anyone write? For a reason other than to speak and be heard – to use a langue we know to share a message we can relate to and understand. To draw people together. Pull separate people who share an unknown common theme together.

I write because who can tell my own story better than I can? Who can share my thoughts and feelings and emotions if I do not share them first?

I write for me.

I write to survive.

I write so I can live.