When I had first decided to start writing a blog, it was so I could share my story. One simple, but complex desire. The need, and the want to put what was inside of me, outside of me. Carrying the newborn hope, that perhaps something I deemed as dark, shameful and useless could one day exist as a tool of love. I wanted so badly for my story to be known, even if I was terrified to tell the truth, because I knew there were people out there, heavy loaded with the same scars I wore, and wear to this day. I had spent years trying to “redeem” myself to my family, friends and even God Himself, and I had become tired. I needed a way out, even if it would take me back in, as all stories do, each in their own way.
I knew that, just like I did, they needed someone with whom they could relate. Someone who would be honest enough to share the truth of things, even when it left them vulnerable to being misunderstood, judged and labeled. I wanted to expose myself. To “un-hide” the parts of myself, so many of us, do our best to keep behind closed doors.
The truths I had denied. The morals I claimed to have held, but would bend, when faced with an easier choice. My battered self-esteem. The tears hidden behind laughter, the grief packaged in new clothes and expensive shoes. The drugs beneath a seemingly sober face. The alcohol in that water bottle. The sleepless nights filled with terrors I knew no one would believe, if I gathered the courage to tell them. The memories, the stories, the passions and the burdens. My story runs deep. It is long, intense and full of a myriad of emotion. I have faced things that would destroy some, and I myself have been on the brink of destruction many a time.
Anyways, I just finished reading this amazing memoir by Cherie Currie. The lead singer of the 1975 band “The Runaways”. Not only was the book one of the best memoirs I have read, but it instilled in me a brand new outlook on telling my story. I am not afraid anymore. It can be very hard, actually fuck hard, it goes deeper than that, the thought of sharing some of the violence and abuse I’ve endured in my life, brought vomit up my throat. And I think I was still terrified of my own memories. But reading Cherie’s words, and experiencing HER reality of abuse, drugs, rock and roll and the shocking insanity she went through on the road, opened up a doorway for me. Even in her filth, in her drug induced delirium, I respected her. After experiencing the kind of abuse that would run your blood cold, I respected her. I even loved her in those moments. And so, it was in this realization, that I decided I was truly ready to start writing my book. On my own terms and in my own way. And that is exactly what I’m doing.
There is still so much to be told, so much no one knows. So, I look forward to the late nights, the binge writing, the power in vulnerability and the fire it ignites in my soul.
“The truth is like a lion, you don’t have to defend it, let it loose, it will defend itself.” ~St. Augustine