Writing is part of who I am and I suspect always will be; I identify as a writer even though it's not a profession. It's what I do, my calling regardless of whether that's just blog posts.

Just!

Makes it sound like it doesn't matter but that couldn't be further from the truth.

It matters! To me, if not anyone else. It's what keeps me going, helps keep me sane; it comforts me in the dark times, helps me understand them, and brings me back to the light.

When I took a break in 2018 it was the writing that brought me back. I missed it. I went for about as long as I could without it, probably too long.

Writing is my virtue: it is the right thing to do; it gives me strength, it provides the courage to say things, admit things, I might not without it.

But writing is also my vice. It is an obsession, all consuming, something that I can't stop thinking about even when doing other things. It is a habit I cannot shake, one that I must live with, am more than willing to do so.

Because I still want all of this to mean something.

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