“What’s the point of my writing?”
I’m glad you asked.
Well, certainly, I do not write because I’m some kind of courageous and ambitious millennial that wants to share her story with the world and make a change.
Of course not. *eye roll*
As great as that sounds; I’ll be honest, the “courageous,” “ambitious,” and “make a change” stuff only came later.
I only started writing as a coping method for the withdrawals I experienced from not having a phone.
Did you hear that? Withdrawals.
Yes, I am probably using the word “withdrawls” in the most unscientific way possible.
But seriously people, my symptoms sure did mirror a beginning heroine addict that lost their needle.
We’ll start with the twitching.
One of my first reactions to AMWHP was a constant tick. A twitch, if you will. Every 20 seconds or so, I would jerk my head to the left. It was subtle enough that I didn’t bring any attention to myself, but intense enough that I noticed.
To the left, to the left. (Shoutout to Beyonce, here).
To the left.
Every 20 seconds.
To the left.
‘What the fuck am I looking at that’s to the fucking left?!”
Let’s paint a picture.
In which hand do I normally hold my phone?
On what part of my desk does my phone lay while I work?
And to where do I typically look in the hopes of seeing the notifications that, somehow, have become the way I value my self worth?
The twitching came, hand in hand, with anxiety, a sense of exposure, and a pit-of-your-stomach feeling of loneliness.
I am the kind of person that likes to be somewhat invisible, but even I still felt the detox.
So, what’s the point of my writing?
I began to write to cope.
To provide a sense of existence, to remind people of my presence and to feel connected.
I didn’t begin to write to share my phone-less experiences and affect change in the world.
As i’ve mentioned before, “I’m not that noble.”
I began writing because I could not bear not to.
I began writing to stay sane.
That makes me nervous.