Journal Entry

30 January 2000 ... I Write
I write because I must.

I write because I am the silly quiet girl, sitting, crouching, in the corner who would never say a word to you in a million years.

I write because it gives me something physical to show for my time. I write because it takes words. I write because I love the feel of pen against paper. Because I love to watch the ink come out and letters form and pages get filled and notebooks get piled up, one on top of the other. I write because I grip my pen so hard it makes my whole arm ache.

I write because I am messed up in the head. I write to punish those who have hurt me. I write because everyone else is so much braver than I. I write because the voices in my head tell me to. I write because of depression, because of hallucinations, because of sharps, because of dreams. I write because I am lost and don't want to be found.

I write because I read. I write because I want to do that. I write because there is something out there and no one believes me. I write to make my life worthy. Because it is my reward. Because I learn. I write because I will die and I don't want to take anything with me.

I write because of static and chaos and butterflies and unicorns and dolphins and trees and highways and moons and fields full of ghosts and vegetarians and save the whales, damnit. I write because no one listens to me.

I write to remember. I write to escape. I write to show the world that I am me and to hell with the rest of you.

I write when the static gets too loud.

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