Why am I writing right now?
Because I feel more comfortable writing things down rather than talking (this may seem surprising to those who know me in real life, but this is true). I’m braver when things are written down, and even braver when the things I write down aren’t made public.
Because I like feeling brave.
Because it lets me say what I need to say, no interruptions. I hate interruptions when I’m trying to say something, to explain something. It’s not that I hate actual organic conversations; it’s just that people tend to ask questions before you even get to answer. I hate explaining things in pieces, when it’s possible to explain things in full. I hate having to go through a thesis defense every damn time I get drawn into a discussion about politics, religion, and goddamn TV shows.
Because I can be wrong when I write. I can be wrong, so very wrong, and it won’t matter all that much; all these words are already out here and I can’t take them back. People will judge you, yes, but they won’t grade you (unless they’re assholes).
Because I’m scared.
Because life sucks and we’re not allowed to let anyone know the specifics, just the general impression.
Because you can’t mispronounce things when you write; and misspellings aren’t as bad as accidentally saying a foreign word for “dickwad” when you try to say someone’s name.
Because everything you say out loud is supposed to be filtered.
Because everything you write down can be edited in a way that makes your insults more nuanced, more subtle, much cleverer.
Because visual puns can actually be more fun that the puns you hear.
Because I’m not me when I’m not writing something somewhere with whatever pen or paper or keyboard I have on hand (except for my phone; my phone is for playing Mystic Messenger and pooping around on Facebook).
Because I can’t breathe when people are talking to me.
Because I can’t stand interrogations; and no matter what you say, every conversation is an interrogation to a person with an anxiety disorder.
Because I have a mild anxiety disorder and not allowed to talk about it.
Because I have a mild anxiety disorder I’m not allowed to talk about because no one will hire me if they knew.
Because I’m not allowed to talk about what I really want to talk about, which is how fucked up it is for people to decide that you’re not allowed to work because you might freak out at an office every once in a while (even though that’s not really how this shit works).
Because I’m not allowed to talk about what I really want to talk about, which is how fucked up we all are for refusing to admit that we’re all fucked up one way or another.
Because I’m not allowed to talk about how fucked up it is that we all have to hide our words just so we won’t hurt other people.
Because I’m not allowed to talk about how fucked up it is that we were raised to give a shit about other people, but are supposed to not give a shit when other people screw us over.
Because I’m not allowed to talk about how fucked up it is that we are made to feel that our feelings are invalid when we say them out loud.
Because fuck this shit.
That’s why I’m writing right now.