I started really writing today, February 24, 2016.
Write-writing, not writingish. Before today I could only refer to it as my story. I’m known to end a thought with, “It’ll be in the book.” I’ve spent over a week in a whirlwind of energies, some the most powerful I’ve witnessed yet. I can tell by the tears in my eyes this is only the eye of the storm. I have many more years on the other side with slightly familiar chaos.
One thing is certain, I could not have made this breakthrough anywhere but here in King County, me aptly living in Queen Anne. I had to be this far away before I could see the forest I was trapped in. It’s still true that everywhere is pretty much the same. It’s the people that are different. Growing up is hard and sometimes it takes a village. There are instances when it comes down to just one person and your relative distance from her.
I’m listening to the Indigo Girls and Rage Against the Machine, if that gives you a feel for the setting. I won’t pretend my story is a happy one. I am recovering from years of untreated depression and systematic emotional abuse. The best you can hope for is dark humor, I guess. My story is fictionalized because it didn’t necessarily happen but I’m a real person so it’s also a true story.