Pondering a decision to tell all.
When I was a teenager, I wrote this "book" thinking it was a tell all diary. In writting it, at the time, it become a "brag book". I say this because, than, everything I did came from a drug induced, rebelious, angry yet seemingly very happy, & lost , mantality. Also becouse if half of my friends knew even more than they did....I would be even more of a star. It ranged from my newfound popularity, to the most intimate moments. Well, when my parents found this "book", they were mortified, calling it their "manual to devestation, destruction and utter shock". Since those days have long been history, I have started jotting memories and such down as to maybe one day use it as a treatment for myself, for remembering, and healing. I have thought about this so often that I am almost convinced that just maybe, writting could be a clinical treatment for so much of the ailments that haught and detour me.
I have prided myself on the knowledge that all that I have gone threw has built charecter, and that I am a stronger person for having been exposed to SO MUCH. The really funny thought though, is, why then, when confronted with things I have NO recoloection of, do I quickly push it back to the lost memory department? Do I need to remember? Share these memories, experiances? Do I need to write them for my eyes only? Do I need to share them with others? Would this help another person? Would it be entertainment? Would it just set my soul out to the public eye for ridicule? Would "my life" story, hit to the core in someone else with a parrallel life and help me and/or them?
A defining decision to do or not to do is in the mix. If even for experimental documantation, can I proove that writting can cure? I love to write, seeing my story on paper, I don't know. I know one thing for sure, it would be in an entirely differant context then the last. No boisterous writting here, just cold hard truth. Facing reality of what has made me who I am.