Why writing? Why not therapy?

NOTE: This post is also part of a contest:  I am participating in the Writing contest: You are a writer held by Positive Writer . With that said, here we go...

Heh, the rabbit hole of all questions: why writing?

Answer? It started with reading, actually. 

I was and still am a painfully introverted person. My mind and my imagination took flight, and I got my adrenaline rush by reading the likes of Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, and Sherlock Holmes.

When I became an adult, the need for practicality and money making drove out the imagination, and I focused on my career.  It was a lonely time, and eventually I tried a few times to start writing my own adventure - it never made it past a few chapters, but I was learning what power I had with writing.  It excited me, finally a place where all those movies in my imagination could go and a way I could express myself.

Then three years ago,   I was diagnosed with Osteoarthritis. I'm thinking my life is over, no one can save me.  I turned to those mystery and adventures of my youth and read them again cover to cover.  That is when I discovered something:

The Journey is never over for those who wield the power of words.

It's the truth - you are not confined by your body, you can recover the crown jewels, see wondrous sights, and even wrestle an alligator or two, all without leaving the confines of your creating space.

But the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, however.  This effort I am on will be effort number ten in starting a novel.  It will be a mystery, a bridge from the adventures I have had with reading my favorites over the years.

That has taken me through my recent diagnosis of rheumatoid arthritis as well. 

These diseases do not define me - my imagination, initially used to take me away from things for a while, now has led me to express myself with writing.  It is a risk in a way, because this is the way I choose to present myself.

I think it will be worth it though - if I can take someone on an adventure or see something in a new way, then my writing will have meaning.

In a non-fiction sense, it already does.  Two years after I bought a used car from a dealer, a tire blew out on the rear.  I was on the side of the road trying to change out the tire only to find that my car did not have a spare.  I mean, who sells a used car without a spare?

This was two years later.  I was angry, I was seething - I wanted them to know how disappointed I was and that I couldn't recommend them to anyone and that since it was two years later that I wasn't expecting a response but I wanted to let them know how I felt.

I sent the email to them with all of that in there...one week later they called me to the dealership, and I received a spare tire.

Never underestimate the power of writing - I knew it was worth it when it helped me through my diagnosis, and it has allowed me to be more than just someone with Rheumatoid Arthritis. It has allowed me to express my emotions like I couldn't before along with the many adventures in my mind and what I am encountering now with this autoimmune disease.

In short, I am a writer, and this is my story.

Until we meet again,
RAmbling Girl