Why I Write: Welcome to Rambling Rachael

Why is that that every time I breathe, I feel a weight?

Not on my lungs, not a physical one, but one that feels like a spiritual millstone hanging around my neck. Digging deeply into the skin, sending blood oozing around the rocky surface, dripping down onto me, seeping into every aspect of my life.

I am elated for those around me who receive their recognition, who achieve their dreams, but in an instant, a voice inside me whispers in the midst of their success,

“You’re a failure,”

“You don’t work hard enough,”

“You will never be more than your past mistakes or future ones.”

The voice keeps me frozen in fear of moving, fearing that one step could take me out of the care of the one who made me. That one step, one deviation, however minor, could cause a rippling effect that would keep me from being who I am meant to be, or rather, who I want to be. The funny thing is, once I write these words down or say them out loud, they sound ridiculous.

Why?

Because they are there to keep me still, because if I don’t move, I don’t grow, if I don’t grow, I don’t face challenges. If I don’t face those challenges, I will never become the person I see in my mind’s eye when I face my reflection. The unattainable is attainable; sometimes it just requires silencing the voice that runs rampant so that you grow louder. That millstone only exists as long as you allow it; learning to take it off is the easy part; keeping it off is hard.

But one could argue, how does something imaginary that doesn’t actually weigh anything require you to take it off?

So in theory, it is never there, was never there, and therefore you are free, as long as you fight yourself for the key.

What is Writing?

Writing is not just the act of putting pen to paper, but rather expressing your deepest inner self. It is short, reflective. It helps you think, feel, process, accept, and even grapple with the knowledge or truth that can feel at times unfathomable. It forces the writer to hold a mirror up to themselves, to look at every crease in their face that is etched into their grammar, every curve matching every formatting attempt, their eyes shining within the word choice they make, and the voice of the writer, which is the window into the soul of what they are trying to convey. I might sound pretentious, but truthfully, that is not my intent.

In my mind, I am writing into the void, hoping for the two-way conversation that happens between writer and reader, the shared communication to take place that might not exactly happen. Those of you who may end up reading this might be asking why?

Why write when there is more than likely no one who will actually respond, who will take part in the mutual exchange of communication, or malleable forming of opinions through this process?

Because I can’t not write.

I have quite literally tried for the last six months. So, it either sits on a file in my computer until it gets deleted after my death or some poor soul at Geek Squad ends up stumbling upon my ramblings. In some ways, this act of writing is not only communicating with you, but it also allows me to communicate with myself. There are times when my thoughts do not feel completely formed until they are forced from my soul to my fingertips and onto this page.

I’ve learned I can no longer be afraid of who I am, of impacting the world through my writing, because for some reason, I fear not impacting the world more than the possibility of what impact I could have on it if I were to take a leap of faith. Also, who am I to believe in arrogance that I might actually make a change when so many voices scream “LOOK AT ME!” daily in some way, shape, or form on social media. I yearn to know myself, to connect, to know that there is someone else who knows this feeling, and to show them they are not alone.

I used to find it funny or simply asinine when I would read writers who say they have to write, otherwise they would not be able to function. Now I laugh at my ignorance; this is my art form. An art form that is used daily in texting, posting, and conversing, an art form that everyone seems to ignore, which is truly heartbreaking. If all else were to fail in this world, this would be all we have left. Communication, the sharing of ideals, debating ideologies, gushing over shared interests, and learning how someone is doing. I do not want to wait to connect with someone, for the apocalypse to be nigh, so…welcome to my blog.

I will try desperately not to be this melodramatic in the future, but what can I say?

I am a writer, a rhetorician; this is what we do. We feel, we share, put pen to page, and force you to feel something because we can.