If Writing Is An Addiction, I Don’t Want A Cure -By Isaac Asabor

People have been mocking me lately, saying I am addicted to writing. They throw it around like an insult, with that smirk that implies I have lost touch with reality. Some say it casually, “Ah, you and this your writing again”, while others say it with ridicule, as if being committed to one’s passion is some kind of mental lapse. Well, this opinion piece is my response to them. If writing is an addiction, then I proudly declare: I don’t want a cure.

In a world where people are hooked on things that destroy them, drugs, alcohol, gossip, social media, toxic relationships, I consider myself blessed to be addicted to something that builds, heals, and inspires. Writing is not a sickness. It is not a flaw. It is a lifeline, and in my case, it is also a calling because I am also a practicing Journalist.

Let us unpack what writing truly is for those who don’t understand it beyond headlines and hashtags,

To aptly tell you how salutary writing is, it is germane to say that it is the cheapest healing for anyone who wants to have his peace. This is as it is therapeutic. I write when I am vicariously angry with people in government.  I mean corrupt and unpatriotic politicians who are either appointed or elected to positions that affect the collective destiny of millions of Nigerians.  I also write when I am confused, joyful, grieving, or lost. The page does not judge me. It does not interrupt. It listens. And in the process of pouring my thoughts out, I often find clarity, closure, and calm.

Many people spend fortunes looking for therapists who will help them make sense of their inner world. Meanwhile, I have got a notebook and a pen, or a blinking cursor, ready to absorb every emotion, question, and wound.

Science backs this up. Dr. James Pennebaker, a well-respected psychologist, proved that expressive writing improves mental and emotional well-being. So, if my “addiction” is helping me stay mentally healthy, then mock me all you want, I am not quitting.

In fact, writing sharpens my mind. Each time I write, I think more clearly. Writing forces me to connect dots, structure my arguments, and sift through my thoughts. It transforms chaos into clarity.

People complain about not being able to focus these days, about how their attention span is vanishing. For me, writing is what keeps my mind sharp. It is my mental gym. Some lift weights. For me, I lift ideas and bend them into paragraphs. We are all lifting weight, only that some lift it physically, but writers lift weighty idea, and they lift it with mental strength; not physical strength.

Those who do not write regularly cannot understand this benefit. They think we are just stringing words together. No. We are organizing the mind. And that mental discipline is something I would not trade for anything.

Without a doubt, writing builds emotional intelligence. When you write often, you are constantly digging into the human experience, yours and others’. You are forced to understand feelings, motives, contradictions, and consequences. Whether I am writing an op-ed, a fictional story, or a personal reflection, I am interacting with the entire range of human emotion.

That makes me more emotionally aware, more empathetic, and more reflective. And in today’s noisy, insensitive world, particularly in this part of the world, we need more people who think before they speak and write before they judge.

In fact, writing is an escape that does not harm me. Some people scroll endlessly to escape. Others drink, smoke, or gamble to forget. Me? I write. And my escape does not leave me broke, hungover, or ashamed. It leaves me fulfilled.

In writing, I create new worlds. I imagine possibilities. I relive beautiful memories and reinterpret painful ones. I escape, yes, but my escape is also creation. I do not disappear. I transform. That is something those who see writing as a “waste of time” or an “obsession” will never understand.

In fact, writing is a discipline. It is not a disorder.  Unlike addiction which is often associated with recklessness and loss of control, writing, true writing, is rooted in discipline. Do you know what it takes to sit down every day and face a blank page? To rewrite a sentence ten times until it feels right? To keep going even when your creativity feels dry? Or stay awake till wee hours when most people are deep asleep and snoring?

That is why I laugh when people try to lump writing in with destructive habits. My “addiction” does not make me lose control, it helps me build it. Through writing, have learned commitment, persistence, and patience. If anything, it has helped me stay grounded in a world full of distractions.

Without any scintilla of hyperbole, writing connects me to something bigger. This is as writing is not just about self-expression. It is also about contribution. Words can change lives. A sentence can spark hope. An article can challenge a government. A book can shift culture. Every piece of writing I release into the world carries the potential to educate, empower, or encourage someone out there, even if I never meet them.

Some people may laugh and say, “Who are you writing for?” My answer is simple: for the one who needs it. Even if that “one” is me.

Writers throughout history have been the conscience of their time. Whether through fiction, journalism, essays, or poetry, they shaped narratives, questioned systems, and gave voice to the voiceless. So, if my so-called addiction places me in that tradition, let me wear it as a badge of honor.

It is not just a habit to write, it is who I am. I am not writing just because I want to. I write because I have to. Not out of compulsion, but out of purpose. Writing is how I make sense of the world. How I record history. How I pass wisdom. It is how I fight my battles, spread truth, and dream out loud.

So when people say I am “addicted,” they may mean it as a warning or insult, but I see it as evidence that I am living true to myself. Writing is not a phase. It is not a hobby I will outgrow. It is a core part of my identity. To stop writing would be to stop living fully.

As a final word, let me say I do not want a cure if I am truly addicted to writing as they are wont to insinuate their mockery disposition towards me. So, if writing is an addiction, I do not want a cure.

I do not want to be “freed” from the need to write. I do not want to stop caring about words, ideas, or stories. I do not want to numb myself from the beauty and burden of crafting something meaningful.

I want to write more. I want to go deeper. I want to keep putting thoughts into words, not because it is a trend, but because it is my truth.

To those who mock or misunderstand: I am not sorry. I am not ashamed. I am not slowing down. Call it what you will, obsession, addiction, compulsion. I call it purpose. I call it passion. I call it life. And I would not trade it for anything.