Just Another Human Story

 I've lost count of how many times I've been told I should write a book about my life.  It seems flattering, on the surface, but the truth is I'd given nearly anything to have a life so dull that nobody would dare suggest I write a book about it.  

I've tried to start a journal recently-ish.  I used to write, by hand, faithfully.  I'd bleed through a pen and I swore that in the depths of my soul was a well of endless ink.  Alas, it's lost its appeal.  The most recent attempt was for practical reasons: my therapist requested it.  I think she's looking for some insight into how to approach trauma healing.  I'll be honest-I don't know if there's a way to heal.  I think some time ago I just swallowed it all and made it a part of me, somehow inseparable.  There are times when I can feel the cells that have been damaged by someone else...  it's palpable, like they're all vibrating at once.  But those times are so few and far between and, let's be honest, I'm probably more than halfway through this race.

I'm told I'm funny.  I think, like any funny person, there's a reason why we so easily spin words into laughter.  I'm a story teller, a performer of sorts, but when I am alone, just me and a keyboard (or, previously, a pen and paper), I'm not funny.  In fact, I imagine anybody would find it quite difficult to even consider that the funny, story telling me is the same person writing this blog.  And, to be honest, I kind of love that.  The one safety in this world is the dark place we hide in when we need to be alone.  It's unremarkable, often undetectable by outsiders, and it's completely and utterly safe.  

Everyone that has ever loved me has died, that is both true and untrue.  It's true in that the people who raised me and gave to me when they didn't have to are gone.  The only people left are those I've given to and who may love me as a residual gratitude of sorts.  I have spent my life hoping to create love where there is none and so far I have yet to succeed.  Instead, I have collected a number of experiences that when turned to story and told in a certain way can entertain a crowd.  Sometimes, though, in that crowd is a person or two that I, myself, love.  And I have never found anything more satisfying than watching someone I love experience a moment of pure and utter joy, regardless of how small or seemingly unimportant the moment may be.  It's in those brief moments that I realize I love to love, regardless of what I get back.  The joy in my life comes from giving to others and watching that gift somehow improve something for those I hold dearest.

I am in a relationship right now that I think may be long-lasting.  He scares me, in a good way, and I think I need that to grow.  I think I'm going to use this to tell my stories and if they turn out funny in type, all the better.  But, not every story will be entertaining and I may not know why some of them chose to come out at all.  I will trust the process as writing has always proven cathartic in the past.  

So, here's to the documentation of some of my life's moments.  May I represent them as accurately as possible and, if in the stories somewhere there is a map that can lead my therapist and me to a healthier place, may it be found!