Why Do We Write?

"i couldnt live in any of the worlds offered to me- i believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live- i had to create a world of my own...in which i could breath, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. "
Anais Nin, In Favour of the Sensitive Man

I have also read somewhere that we write in an attempt to escape from this indifferent, imperfect world, and create one of our own, one that is more to our liking and that is more attentive to our needs and desires. They say we write to obtain a sense of belonging and security that the real world deprives us of, one that we aim to restore within the folds of this imaginary world we create on paper. So whenever life mocks you or puts you down, you go pouring your soul out on that empty paper, escaping in seconds to a world that embodies all your dreams, hopes, and desires. But is that really why we write: to create for ourselves an illusion that relieves us temporarily from the burdens of reality?
Another view, portrays writing as a kind of venting, a mean to channel all the negative or painful emotions into positive ones through putting them on paper. It is as if coming face to face with these emotions will help you see the beauty that lies, hidden, within them. So we write to turn our fear into hope, our solitude into remembrance, and so on.
But what does it all boil down to? What do all these people, each with a different view of their writing, have in common? I look at my own self, and I find notebooks, diaries, scraps of paper, post-it notes, old geometry problems, all filled with writings, wandering thoughts, and childhood dreams, but for what? I have spent years writing things no one else would ever see, but why? For what? I can look back at these writings and see myself, as a child and as a teenager. I can see myself growing, maturing, I can trace all the different conflicts I have been through, and see how life molded my thoughts dreams, and ambitions. I guess that for me writing has always been some kind of soul-search. I used to, and still, write in order to bring meaning to the different changes that crossed my path. In that empty paper I used to find a companion, someone that would just listen silently as I sorted out my thoughts, I’d seek that paper and find somewhere where I can drown out all of life’s chaos and find myself somewhere in between. I guess what I am trying to say is that we all view writing as some kind of sanctuary, and that is the common denominator we all share.

So why do you write?