I write because I have just written but the computer did an update and all those sentences are now lost.

I write to clear my mind. I think originally I wrote to clear out the emotions that I found so difficult to express. I have a letter somewhere I wrote when I was in love with Nicky many, many years ago. It described so much of what I was going through that at the end of it I was empty. The next stage was scary though, sending the letter through. I guess I didn’t, though I think I did so perhaps I have another letter somewhere or did I write more than one?

So writing started for me by being a medium I could express myself in, in ways that I was unable to do in real life. I think it was the enormity of the emotions that was the issue perhaps they were just too much for my mind to contain safely. I think safety has something to do with it too.

Getting perspective perhaps disconnects me from the turmoil of my mind, allows me to stand back and look through the quagmire and in looking at the mess I start to organise it. I start to pull a thread that unravels the mess into a coherent narrative, something that is understandable and to some extent logical. Perhaps I sculpt the chaos into coherence? I am not sure that is true. In the same way the spoken word has greater meaning than the written, the written one seems to have greater worth than the thoughtful one. I wonder if that process can go further? Does conversation provide greater truth than monologue, and does acting further enhance the situation?

It makes sense to me that by doing more with the thoughts in my head, I am adding a further layer of complexity to them, a further level of information. Whilst writing allows me to communicate my inner self, perhaps greater depth can be found by sharing them. It’s a start then, and it’s also a reason – I write to understand myself, but I write also so others can understand me.

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