“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?

My left.

On what part of my desk does my phone lay while I work?

The left.

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 left.

Disgusting, right?

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.





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