Why I write Part 1
When my life was good and I had a future, writing purely for the pleasure of doing so was never something I would have considered. With the exception of my degree in my mid 40’s, any writing revolved around reports for work and were kept to a minimum as much as I could possibly do so.
After my arrest and charge for something I never did but couldn’t disprove, my mind went, initially rendering me incapable of logical thought or reasoning and leaving only thoughts of isolation, depression, suicide and hate for the callous pigs of this state that cared nothing for truth or destroying innocent lives. Over those first few months, as contact with loved ones resumed (something I’d already assumed in my own mind would never happen again, no matter how innocent I knew I was), it was then that writing became my only outlet for so many emotions.