I write about myself. A lot.
I may change names or looks but there’s a high chance that if I written anything I’ve felt passionate about it, it’s based on people and events in my life.
I honestly don’t know if I am capable of writing about anything else.
My second life-river was me laying my entire (and very colored) family history on the table.
My dreams project was about my then current relationship fears.
My sophomore adaptation piece detailed the (once again, very colored) female experiences in my family.
Also sophomore year, I wanted to write an epic love story about falling in love in the modern technology-centered world. (Completely based on my new relationship by the way.)
Last year I began a play all about the events of the summer, which included an ending relationship, a broken friendship and a regained one.
Abroad I played with ideas of someone like me (who am I kidding, it was me) going through flashbacks and making her own discoveries about trauma with her therapist.
Over the summer I wrote a scene about the two voices in my head: one telling me that I should be working 24/7/365 on my art or I’m a failure and the other telling me to enjoy life while I had youth.
And here and now, I struggle to not write a play about two characters based on me and my ex answering the question, maybe we can be friends post-intimacy.
Have you noticed a trend? Because I have.
No no, not that everything is based on my life. I said that at the start so it’s a given. Look again.
Do you see it?
Writing is my own version of therapy. Every time I feel the urge to write, to put one of these stories down into words and characters and things I can change, it is an attempt at healing. At figuring things out.
Because on the page, I can change anything as easily as pressing delete. In the 100% my own and safe space of writing, I am in control. I can write things I wish I had said or did, words that I wish were said to me, and truths I need to hear myself.
Whether I share this work relies entirely on context, time and place. And have I ever finished a play? No, not a once.
But maybe that’s okay.
As much as I enjoy the idea of sharing or producing my work, and having it positively affect other people, at the core of it, I write for me. I write because I need to. I write because on the page, I’m not afraid to say, do or see anything. I write because the alternative is too dangerous.
I write because it’s cheaper than therapy.