I write what I once spent years trying to find.

I wasted so much time in libraries and bookstores and internet blogs, convinced someone had written something that proved my existence wasn’t too weird or perverted or morbid.

I write because that writer never showed up.

So I started holding out my experiences like bait to say

“this is who I am. I will risk being too weird and too much and too perverted if it means I find even one other person who says, ‘Yeah, I’ve been carrying that too.’”

And I did.

I found them.

So please, I beg of you, let this be your sign to write the thing you think no one asked for.

Stop trying to be perfect.

Your writing is the proof someone needed for years.

It’s there compulsion to wait,

Let it be your compulsion to write.