Waiting for Release
I am stalled. Frozen. Frigid. Fretful. Fearful. Maybe I'm waiting for...what?
Maybe I am fearful, but of what or whom or when....
Taking into account Deidre's pointers (sorry - no accent on my mama-board), I know I want to write my story. I know I can write. I know (ish) my story. Yet, yet...something's in the way.
There are so many platforms, that I've limited myself to just two, and I keep them separate. I know I can write; plenty of views and comments on my 'professional' side to affirm, and some fab ones here too! It's all good, so why am I stuck?
I have my one invitation to 'write my story' yet I'm hitting boulders sooooo soon. Why?
I think (personally), it has to do with permission. As kids, we were denied 'permission' on some many levels; on so many things. We obeyed the rule-of-law laid down because we suffered both Stockholm syndrome and PTSD in turn.
A friend of mine, Kim Wheeler, wrote his life story, his book. It didn't have the necessary 'happy ending' but actually - things (God willing) are looking up for him.
How do you describe something indescribable, yet subtle? I was a small child when my story started; language had little room. It is freakin' difficult! More so, I think, do people want to read this...does it really matter anymore? I can clinically say it does matter. But...is it then healthy? My story [predictably] is less than wholesome, but it's not the worst. Certainly the major player in my life was at best, absolutely fascinating. At worst, absolutely terrifying. He lives. In me. He knows.......