Its been a really long time. The reason for writing this story initially was to help me deal with unbelievable things that have happened over the last year and a half. I was writing as the story was unfolding in front of me.
All of my discoveries and experiences were like being a dream, where you are there going through it, but soon you'll wake up and it wont be real. Just my awful subconscious punishing me for watching all that crime TV. Yes, I cried, boiled with anger, and succumbed to sadness, but I still only felt some small percentage of the emotions that should be natural. They didn't hit me in full, surely I was not feeling them at 100%. Writing the story made it feel more real, but I still wasn't there. Writing helped me snake my brain around what has become my family's crazy story.
But then it happened. It became real. Really real. It was my family and my dad that was drowning and breaking before my eyes. It was my heart and my soul being suffocated within my body. It was me that would fall to the floor and weep for what I was loosing. It was my demolished mom I held while she sank into despair. It was my brother's dispirited eyes I had to look into. It was my sister's loss of "sunshine" I had to endure. It was our pain, our agony, our torment. It wasn't just a story to tell. It was real. Real. Life.
And I couldn't write anymore. It was too real. I sat down and tried to force myself, but only managed a few ragged sentences. I got so many emails. "When's the next chapter coming?" "What's going on? Any new news?" I started to feel sick from all the inquiries. I was angry with all the questions. I felt like yelling at the questions. Telling the questions to FUCK OFF- this is just entertainment for you but its MY LIFE. OUR LIFE. OUR PAIN. FUCK YOUR PERSONAL ENTERTAINMENT!
I know that is extraordinarily unfair, since I did start my story AND share it. I know much of those emails, were well meaning, loving questions of outreach and support. I needed to be mad at the questions. I needed to stop writing. Stop it from feeling real. Stop feeling. ALL feeling needed to just stop. In truth, my feelings of anger were misplaced. I was just angry this was happening. What I realized was that people ask questions because nobody talks about this stuff, yet this very story has touched the lives of almost every person I know. It wasn't entertainment, but camaraderie- a shared experience. Everyone has a brother, a sister, an Uncle, someone that has left a cataclysmic wave of destruction. Its so common, but we hide it. We stuff it in a box and pretend it never happened, but so many of us are crying inside. Hurting deeply. I'm blessed that my readers have stuck by me. Waiting patiently for me to come around and find my voice again. I'm blessed to have the support and love from friends, family, and readers. I didn't realize I was alienating myself from my support system- the very people that know exactly how I feel. The same people that are putting on a smile and crying inside with me.
But still, I never picked up writing again, until now. So very much has happened since the last chapter. It really is only the tip of the iceberg. But I'm back. It may be slow, and angry, and awful, full of crazy, and foul language. It will be honest and, yep you guessed it, real.
I HAVE to write this story, because its not just for me anymore. Its for millions of families that face this story and stories like it every day. Its so they know they are not alone. We are here all together feeling this pain. Grieving over time and people lost. We are the ones left standing to pick up the mess. Left to sink or swim. We are the mother's of children left by their fathers. We are the sisters left to raise our nieces and nephews. We are the grandparents that foot the bill for rehab for the 6th and 7th time. We are the children that visit our fathers dressed in prison orange. We are the families that have been destroyed by lies, hidden lives, infidelity, substance abuse, and moral corruption. We are the ones caught in the undercurrent struggling to reach something, anything, that will keep us afloat. This is my story, our story and its time to find a damned boat.
