Why I Use Writing as a Purge Mechanism

I've always been one who is reserved and quiet. Initiating conversations isn't part of my character, nor has it ever been, and I have a habit of keeping my opinions to myself even if the subject is a high interest of mine. If someone had decided to do all of the talking, I gladly sat back as they rambled on until they turned blue in the face.

Although occasionally I have spurts of assertion to the point where I take the initiative, it's short-lived. I have no idea why such comes over me, but when it happens I tend to be oblivious to it. Only afterward do I realize that it's somewhat of an outer-body experience, and I've taken possession of an alter-ego rather than my natural self.

It's surreal.

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"If you have something to say, you should say it. Don't hold back."

For me to speak my mind, I would have to force myself to do so without the feeling guilty. And also without worry that someone would interpret such as offensive. Perhaps this is the basis of why I'm likely to reveal my thoughts in a diary.

My diary definitely provides an outlet in order for my frustrations or anger to flow. Especially if I have to resort to self-restraint when I'm itching to respond with a brash tone. The same brash tone I had been taught to keep to myself. I simply let loose on paper or in WordPad with the use of my keyboard.

During my teen years, I never hesitated to refer to my composition notebook. I couldn't help it as it was practically instinctive. There I would sit writing with an intense determination to express my emotions as the pen ink bled through the paper. It didn't matter to me how disorganized it was as long I felt the satisfaction I needed to calm down. Also, I was writing unto myself; so I wasn't worried about the critique of it by someone else who just so managed to get a glimpse of it.

And then there were essays which were required to be written during all of my years as a student. Rarely did I ever have to make revisions. My first drafts were almost always well-written. The final draft may as well have been all which I needed to give to the teacher.

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"You're a lean, mean writing machine."

If writing were a weapon, I would be responsible for a massacre. As quick as I am to whip out some writing material, whether it be a Post-It note, napkin, pad or even one of my hands, I'm unstoppable. Once I begin, I block out everything and everyone. It's as if I'm in a race against time. Although such hasn't happened, the fear is always there; so I make sure to reach the finish line.

I feel unstoppable when writing and as if I'm in another world or perhaps even on another planet. Just as other people are happy while engaged in other activities, there truly isn't much of a difference.

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"Wow, you really wrote all of that?"

I've lost count how many times someone has peered over my shoulder and they were shocked after just one look at my writings spread on a table. It's so unbelievable to some people that there are others who have a love for writing. I have no idea why, but in my eyes, simply sitting down and allowing my thoughts to flow is like second nature to me. And then when I look up, I realize just much I've written.

Honestly, sometimes I don't conduct a word count. I simply make sure that each and every word of my thoughts are expressed clearly and reflect my mood at the time. Just how much is written may be surprising to people who don't have an avid interest in writing. To actually sit there and write at length about certain topics, which the writer clearly has enough knowledge of, is difficult for them to understand.

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Yes, we exist.

Not that I intend to set writers apart from people who cater to other niches, careers, or interests. However, it's possible for some people to mainly rely on expressing perspectives, gripes, accomplishments, and so on, wording such by hand.

In the same manner some people love to vocalize is the same manner my writings do so.