I fool myself all the time. A situation changes and I think I will never have to go back to the way it was. I guess I am optimistic in that way. But yesterday I got a lot written – a lot for me anyway – I wrote almost 2000 words in two writing sessions. I wrote in the early morning, in the quiet, but I also wrote in the afternoon, out on the back patio, while the hens wandered in the yard and the sky dropped dribbles of rain on the aluminum roof of the patio. I don’t know, maybe the glass of white wine helped skip me over the edge of pain; but it didn’t feel so bad. I was writing about the very time I found out that Dad was leaving us and that Mom was going to put me out on the street. So imagine you have to put on shorts and wade into raw, stinking sewage. Imagine how it would eat away at your skin and how bad it would smell. After you got out of the sewage, you couldn’t wash it off and the putrid stink would have to dry on your body, leaving you itchy and uncomfortable.
That’s kind of what it feels like to wade down into the waters of my past. Or usually it does, anyway. But my hope is that I have discarded enough of the shame that has rested on me for decades, that that waters have been refreshed and cleaned. Not that I should be filled with joy when thinking about what happened to me and what I did, but I hope that I won’t feel so toxic in the future. It makes it easier to write.