Jinked

Just recently I’ve found that my friend Tracy keeps a journal called Ecstasy’s Lament: A Bipolar Blog. I read a lot of it one night and felt a little upset with myself. Here was a woman I worked with, who shared a wave and laughter and stories and lotion with me for months, and I didn’t know any of this about her.

This morning as I read the newest entry, I realized just how much I admire Tracy. It takes a lot of courage to write about the things she does. She’s right, her stories are funny and sad and sometimes even scary, but they are always insightful. I want to be more like that, open with who I am.

Pretty much all my life I’ve forced myself to fit an ill-conceived notion of normalcy and perfection. I hated my flaws so much that I dissociated myself from them… and then hid them away as best I could. I was afraid to help myself, afraid to talk to anyone. I feared having a record. I feared a misdiagnosis. I feared being laughed at or called childish or weak.

It’s been over fourteen years since I started doing it, and I’m not all the way through my ordeal. I’m close, but not finished. I can see the end, but it really bothers me that it’s taken so long to get there because I made myself do it alone.

I keep talking about this memoir I’m writing, conceptualized early in my Writing Journey. Initially, it was a confession to my mother. There were so many times in my life where I wanted more than anything to tell her what was happening inside me, who was inside me, but I couldn’t. So many things kept me back, all of them within me. I felt so helpless. I wanted help but I didn’t think I deserved it. I didn’t want anyone to take me away.

Over the last few months of writing and sharing this memoir with a handful of people I hold close in my life, I’ve healed. Greatly. I’m beginning to get the closure I’ve wanted for so long. I’m turning the so-called ugly things in my past into a beautiful (albeit very rough) work. It feels good. Sharing feels very, very good.

I can see why Tracy has her blog. I can see why Tracy paints. Writing everything I have written in the past 90 days has helped me reflect on the delusions, voices and personae that played an integral role in my growing up. It’s helping me fully actualize that I am not perfect, that I am capable of bad things, good things and all the things in between. It’s helping me realize that I am worthy of love, that I can love. I feel more whole than I ever have in my life.

I’ve learned more about myself in the last 90 days than I have in the last fourteen years, because I opened the Door.

I’m trying to be better at sharing because I found out that in doing so it brings you closer to everyone important in your life.