Writing is an artificial arena in which to exercise control, where we can mash the world into a shape we can stand to look at. And control is inherently aggressive. It is, if you think about it, absurdly hubristic to presume that your version of events is the Truth, that you of all people are entitled to tell us what happened, let alone why.
.. Words are only symbols, noises or marks on paper, and turning the messy, ugly stuff of life into language renders it inert and manageable for the author, even as it intensifies it for the reader.