Why am I even attempting to write something?

Honestly speaking, this is my 3rd teeny weeny attempt at blogging. I had started 2 blogs before, posted in them once or twice, and then I got tired of sitting in a place and troubling my fingers(and my mind even more), so I just gave up. And I don't know if I am going to abandon this blog as well or not. So you can see that writing, or more specifically, blogging, for me is perhaps a futile exercise as I am not even consistent. So why is it that I am starting another blog again? Why am I driven to write, even if my mind keeps telling me its worthless nonsense?

        I googled the question, "Why do people write?"(Don't laugh. Everyone does it.) And there were a number of explanations from reputed writers as well as amateurs on why people want to write something. Something about words being powerful and lasting even after our mortality ends, or that everyone just wants to rant and rave about their problems and are unable to do so and hence turn to the all-accepting white papers, or people wanting to enlighten the whole world with their writings. So I sat about and thought a great deal about why I wanted to write(even when I suck). I don't want to enlighten anyone else, God knows how much mess I have created in my life. I have many loving caring people around me who are always there to listen to whatever I have to tell them. I don't want to leave anything behind after I die. So why do I write?

         I discovered the answer yesterday while chatting with a young(he's my age) albeit really talented writer. We were discussing my inability to write anything that people could completely relate to. On a whim I asked him a question,"Don't you think its enjoyable to write something that has a secret deeper meaning for you alone while the whole world comes up with different explanations?" He was amused, I think, when he replied,"Its deeply satisfying to do that." That's when I realised I write for that satisfaction. I realised that despite many people around me who would always listen to whatever I have to say, I myself would not tell them everything because I simply didn't want to. I wanted a last part of me reserved only for me, I didn't want anyone else to even have a glimpse of it. I did want to flaunt that last part to everyone but hide it as well. I liked it when guesses about my poems and characters were off mark, and only I knew what I had been thinking about when I wrote. I write for relief.

        I know that most probably I sound a little narcissistic, or maybe arrogant. I don't care about that though, it is always an important day for me when I understand any little thing about my really weird self. If and when you read what I wrote, do be kind enough to guess what it was about.