What is the point of writing or expressing one's views

Where did I find the strength in my solitary soul to write page after lonely page, to live out syllable by syllable the false magic not of what I was writing but of what I imagined I was writing? What spell of ironic witchery led me to believe myself the poet of my own prose, in the winged moment in which it was born in me, faster than my pen could write, like a sly revenge on life’s insults! And rereading it today I watch my precious dolls ripped apart, see the straw burst out of them and see them scattered without ever having been …read

As I try to write I feel I  am the outskirts of some non-existent town, more long-winded prologues from me  to an unwritten book … I’m a character in a novel as yet unwritten, hovering in the air and undone before I’ve even existed, among the dreams of someone who never quite managed to breathe life into me.

The salient setbacks of my life was that evils of life I was brought up not in a toxic patriarchy
but in a toxic matriarchy.