“You need to write a book” is her only shocked response,
as I sip my coffee, staring out the blinds at yet another colourful character moving into the apartment across from me.
“I don’t think there’s any way I can fit it all into one book,” I sigh, taking another sip.
“besides, the bigger problem is telling my life story in such a way that people believe it actually happened.
I stare at the cream swirls in my mug…deep in thought.
She inquisitively nods her head my way and asks “You go back to those days in your head a lot, don’t you?” Of course she already knows the answer.
I only slightly make a gesture in the affirmative.
She then starts “How many times have you been told that you should write a book?”
She knows the answer here too.
But I chuckle “A hell of a lot,”
“but every time I sat down and started writing in the past, another catastrophe would tear my world apart!” In exasperation I throw my head back and groan “I sometimes feel like the universe just keeps taking a giant shit on my head! Why God?! Aaargh!”
Letting out a nervous laugh, I half way moan “If I don’t learn to laugh at it, I’ll just cry.”
She smiles, looking down at her hands and shaking her head in what I can only assume is amazement. Her reaction to my story feels liberating.
I’d just explained a horrifying experience. One that people only write novels about. Yet this had beed my everyday life.
I have had many experiences.
I’ve walked through the fires of hell.
By some miracle,
I’m not drooling on myself in a state mental hospital.
(Although I do have experience in one and will share)
I’ve hurt myself (cutting, eating disorder),
Been beaten (domestic violence, childhood abuse),
Done drugs and gotten clean on my own (13 years clean), Lost children (miscarriage, adoption), been victim to vicious criminals (rape, childhood sex crimes), run for my life and the life of my child, been homeless, on the streets, in shelters, gave birth in one, experienced paranormal attacks, and even underwent an identity change. I’m a single mom battling serious health issues including a brain tumor, and more.
I’ve given up,
Gotten back up,
Lost my will,
Lost my strength,
I’m still here.
I believe that at the end of the day,
There’s a reason for everything.
Always the peculiar one,
The odd one,
Like a cockroach, I can take an insane beating,
But I just don’t die.