Why should I write in the first place? What is the point when there are only 26 letters in the alphabet and just under 200,000 words in the English language? Everything that can be said or written has undoubtedly been said or written before. Everything and anything worthwhile, at least. Nothing new under the sun.
Why write? Maybe because there is no point? Maybe because the only way to combat the demons of the day is to play with words even if the play is derivative, the song is familiar, the prose is heavily borrowed. Words are a way of seeing, a way of delineating, describing. While words can be dangerous and deceptive, sometimes they are the only light the can shine into the ever-creeping darkness. Words bear witness.
So I write because I can. Memoirs are a way of saying “This is what I saw. This is what I see.” The invisible becomes visible. Specifically, the things about myself that no one sees, sometimes not even seen by me. I pull the curtain back on the demon in the hopes that people reading might find it a familiar sight and thereby identify the demon that have hidden away inside them. To write about my demons is to take away their power of subterfuge and to show them for the clumsy brutes they are.