Other than the fact that it feels like obedience to pursue this, the ideas that I have about it are these:
-- That I have learned certain things from my life thus far and it might benefit other people to share those things.
-- If sharing painful things I’ve been through can help other people then it makes them worth having gone through - a way to bear one another’s burdens.
-- If people relate to what I write, then I am not alone. I feel more understood and connected to people.
-- There are pathways that my brain can only trace and connect through writing. It is healing for me to analyze and organize and process.
-- That last one doesn’t feel like it benefits anyone other than myself and it seems like this is a selfish, indulgent endeavor, to spend my days this way. Aren’t there other things in the world that need my attention more? Wouldn’t it be better for me to just get some therapy and take some meds and get back to living a more normal life?
-- Well, I’ve had therapy and meds before and they do help. I’m not opposed to them at all. I probably should seek them out again, but I have a feeling that I would still be compelled to write.
-- Which leads me back to where I started, like this is what I was made to do. Regardless of where it takes me or what other things I don’t accomplish instead.-- And so the final answer is simple and perhaps selfish, but also true. I need to.