Why I Write.

I could not help but thinking this writing assignment to be obviously simple, but as I thought more about it, I could not keep up with the reasons.
When I was child I had this diary. One of those girly pink ones probably purchased at a school book fair. It even had a little side lock on it that could only be opened with one Key. The Key I had. This insured that all my most personal thoughts that I allowed to escape my mind would still be mine. For some unexplained reason, my memory of me writing in this diary only goes back as far to second grade. I can see myself writing in it, visualizing myself sitting with this pink diary and scribbling down words. My memory stops me from seeing what's on the page.
When I was in eighth grade or so, I was cleaning my room and found this old box in the closet. Upon opening it and searching through old grade paper, drawings, miscellaneous things I found a pink diary with a lock on the side. Eager to look at all my childish drawings and laugh about how stupid I was sure I sounded, I pried it open. I first just skimmed the pages, laughing at all the silly drawings and misspellings, but then I began to read. I wrote about my life. Of course there were those pages filled with elementary school drama. Which boy I thought was cute and the sleepovers I had attended. However, there were those pages that, despite seeming so naive, were actually very powerful and sincere. I wrote about the times I was So happy, I could not hold the excitement in, I had to share it. I had to remember it.
That's right. I write when I am happy! I write to remember! Then there were those entries about my parents arguing. I write to forget. I write to take the screaming out of my mind and put them someone else. Some where more distant. That piece of paper, it's better than having it float around my head. I wrote about the time my mom would not allow me to get up from the table until I had eaten everything. I fell asleep at the dinner table. I was so mad. I wrote about it. I write when I am mad and want to scream. My words scream on that paper! I wrote about the time my grandfather passed away and how I felt seeing my dad cry for the first time. I write when I am sad and I need someone/something to hear everything I have to say. My paper and pen seem to hear my every thought without judgment. I wrote about the things I don't want to remember. The things I have blocked out of my mind. I had to get them out someway. I write to stay sane and I write when I feel like I am going insane. If I allow someone to read something I have written it is because I want to share a piece of myself with them. To somehow communicate my thoughts and feelings to their own.