As you may have seen I am in the throws of writing a memoir. It has been 9 years since I got into recovery, which is what most of this memoir is. It has taken 9 years for me to finally remove so much of the stigma and shame that lays in my bones, because of my use and drinking. 9 years before I could write this story.
I was talking about the book to a friend the other day, they asked me if I felt healed finally. I pondered that question for a while. Healed is such a finalized word. I feel healed in some areas, and very open in others. I do feel ready, ready to share.
Writing this is an emotional roller coaster, with each word written down in black and white there is either happiness and relief or pain and tenderness. I look over the chapter I have just written and it is so beautifully filled with truth and hope. Yet I look forward to the next I will have to write and I get ill and nauseous, I plan to write it quickly and not look back until I have to.
Writing this is beautiful and terrible. As is life.
Beautiful and terrible can describe so much.