Writing has aways been a consolation for me; a way of coping with the world. We all have coping mechanisms–practices we engage in when the world seems to be a source of contention and discomfort–well, I write, and I write until the paper is laden with led. It is not the only reason I write, of course, as navigating through the world requires us to write for many different reasons: Academic, Professional, Communicative. But the truth is that I write because writing is an outlet in which I alleviate the physical constitution of malignant sensations causing me dissonance. The paper becomes a blank canvas on which I bleed the chaos of pervasive conditioning. And out of chaos make order. That is to say that I find peace in the chaos by transcribing my emotions on paper, eradicating them from the fallible, vulnerable flesh that gives me life. Writing is merely a consolation. A shelter from the storm.