Telling Stories

Write 31 Days #2

You are both the main character and narrator of your life. You may not have control over all your circumstances, but you can choose how to tell the story. 

-- Jonathan Adler

I've been asked to tell my story. Again. 

In reality, a friend offered me the opportunity to participate in a study and the form begins with "Please tell your story". 

Let me start by saying I hate the word "story" in this context. Adler's quote resonates with me because of its truth, but that doesn't mean I have to like his choice of "story". 

"Story" implies fiction to me, and I've  spent far too many years trying to convince myself of the veracity of my memories to let them be written off as a "story" at this point in my journey. Semantics. But I do get caught up in words.

I've used humor frequently when sharing my experiences, which is perverse given that there is nothing humorous about any of it. We all have our coping mechanisms. Humor isn't all bad, but it does create a wall around me that implies to the listener that I am fine. I am just fine. Which is not true. I am never fine when recounting my history.

Frequently I rely on what I like to call the Quick and Dirty version. Just enough detail to get the point across, but not enough to completely overwhelm my listener or reader, or to send me into fast-talking panic mode. It goes like this -- "I was sexually abused by 5 different people as a child, and raped twice as an adult." There that wasn't so hard, was it?

All of it has never been written down in one place or told in its entirety at one time. It's just too much for me to do, and I don't want to impose on anyone long enough to get it all out. It was real, real bad, okay?

Here is what is true -- I want to write it all done in excruciating detail. Every episode with every gory detail. I want someone to listen to me no matter how long it takes or how much I ramble. I want to watch them react in sadness and horror and grief. I want them to tell me it's not my fault, was never my fault. 

But there will never be enough assurances that it wasn't my fault. Not really. Because it happened, and I really don't think I'll ever completely erase the idea from my soul that I could have stopped it -- or kept it from ever starting -- or continuing. At least not this side of heaven. 

What I can do is be a listening ear or reading eyes for other people's "stories". I can keep telling my experiences as a way of reminding others that to be human is to have a need to make sense of what happens to us and around us. And it is in the telling that we make sense of our lives and connect with one another.

Blessings!

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