Why did I do it, you ask?
I am approximately two months into my book publication, and there is one question that I am asked time and time again: Why did you feel the need to write about your past when it seems like you are doing just find now? My answer is always that without writing about the past, I wouldn’t be fine. In fact, I’d be living more in the past if I hadn’t of published this book.
I get it, I get it. Most think that if you don’t talk about things that they don’t feel as real. This is a type of approach that lead to the very reason that I wrote the book. I cannot begin to describe the confusion and pain that cluttered most of my life; no matter how much I talk about it, I happen to know how helpless those years were. I can look back in hindsight and say that I know how fragile the human life actually is, even when the body is young and fairly healthy.
Before you judge the nature of depression and the effects of trauma, try to imagine every solid foundation around you crumbling and nearly every single person tiptoeing around the broken pieces with a smile. And then as you get older, the world seems to have it all together, but now you are the broken piece…you are the one people tiptoe over..only they aren’t smiling anymore. They are calling you crazy. Some of them turn out to be boyfriends that need a punching bag. Some of them turn out to be a portion of the world that want you to sit down and shut up like you were told to when you were a child. Some turn out to be employers that may think that because of a survivor’s past that they couldn’t possibly do a job well. (False–no one at work would ever guess that I’m anything else other than a successful businesswoman–they don’t even know about this blog).
This is why I wrote a memoir.
For all those people.
For, both, the survivors, and the world that doesn’t open its arms to us.
What I ask you of you
Imagine me as being nine-years-old. Imagine that I’m reaching out to you, confessing these things to you and hoping that you tell me that it will all be okay. The truth is, sometimes that’s exactly who I am. And some still have trouble accepting, but many open their arms and tell me that it will be okay. I am a wife, mother, businesswoman, writer, artist and survivor–and do a good job at being all of those; however, the the child in me still exists, wanting to be loved in a way that I’m not sure this world is able to.
Thanks to those open arms.
Thanks to those that share my word, invite me to speak to your groups and keep the conversation going.
I can’t save the old me, but I can do my best to save those that could become the old me.
This is a life-long fight that I hope you will fight with me. It takes understanding, empathy, compassion and open arms. Those things may seem small, but they are more than capable of saving a life.
© 2014 Angela M. Carter