Tell it, I shall....
For most of my adult life I have desired to write a book, to put everything I have onto paper, to tell a story, and hope that it could give hope to just one person. For most of my adult life I have struggled to put the words together onto paper, in a way that kept me writing full force to the end. It is very hard to tell a story about a life you are still living, my lines are often blurred with faded memories and drug induced fuzziness that the timeline never quite matches up. I've recently thought that I could literally do a timeline, the things I know for sure happened at certain age and time, and fill in the blanks to figure out the others. For almost all of my adult life I have hated my father and often my mother. This is the story I wish to tell, how I arrived there, how I lived through it, and left it behind the best I could. How it turned me into who I am, a demented but thriving 30 something mother, who put so much into the carelessness of her mask to those looking at ...