The Story I Never Tell Part 1

The Story I Never Tell Part 1

I am going to tell you a story that I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone completely. My very best friends know some bits. My family knows some bits, though they know even less than my best friends know. But I don’t think I’ve ever told the whole thing to anyone. The reason I am telling is that not telling it has been killing me slowly for the last 7 years. It’s this metaphorical cancer that I keep excising in parts but that I’m too afraid, or ashamed, or unskilled, or stupid to go in and root out completely. We know what happens to cancer that isn’t rooted out completely. Metaphorical cancers may not kill you, but they do grow and grow, and they leave you in a shriveled, miserable state.

I have been hiding a lot of anguish behind a big, white smile and zany hair. And I will say right here that I am ashamed to have felt such anguish over the story I am going to tell. Over these last 7 years that I’ve been agonizing over my metaphorical cancer, I have friends who have had real cancer. I have had friends whose children have died and I have had friends give birth to full term, stillborn babies. I have a friend who nearly died from kidney failure and who was on dialysis for three years before getting a kidney. I have a friend who had a kidney removed and is living with the remaining one. I have had many friends go through brutal divorces complete with horrific custody battles, family collapse, total economic devastation, and humiliating time in court. I have a friend whose mother was wrongly accused of a felony and who spent years at Rikers Island, a place so horrible even our mass-incarceration-happy nation could no longer stomach it, and shut it down. I have friends whose parents have died. My dad had an pacemaker installed emergently. My mother lost her last living sister which awoke in her memories of her strange, painful, magical life of miracles but which heartbreak has not yet lifted. I am deeply ashamed that while other people have suffered real, tangible losses and pain, that I was suffering for such comparatively insignificant reasons. The reason I have never shared this whole story is that  compared to so many people’s battles, what I was feeling wasn’t worthy of discussion. So I told little drips and drabs and then moved on to something else.

But feeling ashamed isn’t helping me and it isn’t helping you either. I’m not doing any favors by keeping my shame all bottled up and pretending I am totally okay when I’m not. You certainly don’t have to care and I’m no one that people are keeping tabs on, so what I am doing is telling a story out into the vast and lonely blogosphere. I have to remind myself of this. All I am doing is writing down a true story and putting it on a website which no one will think to look at and leaving it there. It’s almost like an offering you leave in a church with a lit candle, or bury in the soil, or send out into the sea. It is for me, not for you. It is for me, not for you. It is for me, not for you.

I’m going to tell this story in three parts because long blog posts are hard to read on phones and until I started this project, I hadn’t read anything on my computer in an age. Heck, maybe I’ll tell it in more than three parts. Maybe this whole blog will be the minute telling  of this saga over the course of hundreds or thousands of agonized blogposts tucked in under The Blog of Lies, which was the beginning of my lying about how I was feeling about the whole damn thing.

Okay. I think that’s enough for one blogpost. In the next post, I’ll stop being coy and tell the damn story.

Please follow and like us: