The Hurricane Inside My Head

For once, I don't have anything in particular that I feel the need to write about -- and yet, I feel the need to write just as strongly, if not more so.

You know, people always ask me why I write; why I blog... Its simple really: I have to. I don't write because I want to, or because I think it's fun. I have to write. Its a need, a compulsion. Not an addiction mind you, not unless you consider breathing an addiction.

See, I have an overactive mind. I've been accused of having ADD, my mind is so all over the place. Maybe I do. Probably I do. But because there's all that stuff inside my head, all swirling around at a million miles an hour like some sort of thought tornado, my mind can be a very crowded, noisy place. If I don't do something to focus it, or quiet it down, I tend to go a little off the deep end. Writing calms everything down, brings everything into focus, and gives me a little bit of peace and quiet.

Its kind of funny... I come across as such an articulate person most of the time, but then, most of the time I'm writing -- or typing, as the case may be. When I talk, my mind is moving too quickly for my mouth to keep up, and I end up mispronouncing words, using the wrong word, or omitting words all together... Which can sometimes make it hard to understand what I'm trying to say. Not to mention the slight speech impediment I have with S's... They usually come out sounding like "Th" or sometimes "Z". Go figure. And the more nervous I am, the worse it gets. So really, having a discussion -- vocally -- about all the junk in my head gets very difficult sometimes, and doesn't ever bring me the solace that writing does.

So when my mind is over burdened some how, even if I'm not aware of what its gone into overdrive about (which is quite often the case), I write. I pour it all out onto paper so that its no longer festering inside my head. If I don't... If I can't... And there was recently a 5 month period in which I couldn't... I get out of control. Scary manic. Because the momentum of my mind builds and builds until it runs over into my body... And then you'll find me doing whatever I can to burn off that energy -- like running around the block at 3am, or searching for something to sedate myself with (generally liberal doses of alcohol), or just giving into the hurricane that rages inside my mind, and doing stupid shit like dying my hair fluorescent pink, or meeting up with whatever could-be-psycho-killer from a chat room... Yeah... I know...

But that's why I write (and why I have to be medicated on a continual basis) -- Because I have to. I can't function unless I do. I don't stay sane unless I do.

It has nothing to do with "want" or "fun" or "satisfaction" like it does for so many of these amateur creative writers in the forums I'm part of... Which is partly why that's all they'll ever be -- amateurs. They don't understand what writing truly is. They don't feel their own words. They don't understand the NEED to express, to create... They don't realize that writing is an art that requires drive and an almost obsessive mentality that only very few are born with, and that most of those few implode before ever tapping into their potential. They don't understand that to be exceptional, you HAVE to stand on the brink of insanity, and stare into that abyss.

They think they can write just because they want to... And they're wrong. Miserably and hopelessly wrong. They lack the fire... The passion... The compulsion... The forces of nature raging inside them... That all great artists have.

The sad thing is... I have it... And I'm wasting it.