Is This Life Worth It?

I suppose when one begins a career in writing, it doesn't happen all at once. A writer doesn't just wake up one morning and say, "OK, this is it, I'm a writer." There has to have been something inside at the beginning to lead to the decision.
Some of my more "poetic" friends would call it a seed, waiting inside for the time when it can blossom to its full potential. In my experience, those people watch a lot of reruns of "The Waltons."
In actuality, and what most writers don't know, is that they are all crazy. They won't admit this, not to themselves or anyone else. What lurks inside a writer are many things. There is no "seed" of inspiration. There's a nauseating poisoned piece of meat that was swallowed sometime ago and needs to be purged as soon as possible. Once it's out, the writer feels better for a time, until the next rancid meal needs to be puked onto the keyboard or into the journal.
Can this feel good? Oh, sure, it can. It feels good in the way getting a cavity is fixed feels good...in the way hemorrhoid surgery feels good...in the way giving birth feels good. There's an overwhelming need, almost biological, to get whatever is inside to the outside, so the torment will end. Before and during, there is apprehension, fear, trepidation, even dread...along with nausea and a slight headache combined with loss of appetite of course.
It is only afterward, when you look at the new life you have brought into the world, when you look at the shiny new cap on your tooth, that you realize it was worth it. Because that is when the sense of relief comes. And with the relief comes a twisted sense of joy...until the symptoms start up again.