Addiction

         What is this? What are these words, connecting my mind to my hand as I recite my thoughts? What, to me, is writing? Is it a jumble of symbols meant to be read, or is it something more?
         The written word is pure. It is not visual art, which requires a shape or color to complete the artwork's aura of understanding. Writing can make no sense. It is not bound by form, mood, anything. It is freedom, the clearest way to see through the windows of my mind, look into my thoughts and understanding. It needs no organization, boundaries, or instructions to be as meaningful as possible. It is malleable, flexible and so manipulative that it sometimes horrifies me with its blatant abilities to be, to exist, to transform you and your mind. But that s why I love it. That is why I am apprehensive towards it. That is why I am excited about it. I feel not one emotion for it, but every. Writing is my sanity.
         With writing, I can see into my mind with more complexity, know myself better than I could know myself any other way. It is my therapist, listening to my thoughts, my emotions, and using them to my advantage, offering me a chance to organize my various thoughts so I can see what is actually on my mind. Its gates welcome me in, give me fresh ideas, resurface old ones. It nurtures me, cultivates me so I can become the master of my mind. But how can it do that? Writing is something I do, I must start it. Or does it start me? Does it activate my brain, sending its rusty gears whirring with new lubrication and churning up a better understanding, peeling back layers of myself as it goes, so I can see my soul? Why does writing possess power within me?
         I can see. I can see so much more in so much better detail, and writing down things I see gives those little details even more significance, until they bloom with beauty and meaning. Writing has activated my power to see. How it has, I may never know. If I have been granted the ability to see this early, what abilities will it give me in the future? Will I be able to heal, to teach, to live on forever? It will make me legendary. I know it will.
         Writing and I are one. I benefit from it, it benefits from me. Since I let it into my life, it has transformed me, turned me into a more complex and unique individual. I vow to keep writing. It is my compassionate friend, my drug, my intoxicant.
         And I am addicted to it.