I have mixed feelings.
I’ve published my book. Hurrah! I’m very excited about it. It has gone live on Kindle and will be ready for physical distribution by the end of the month (hopefully). My girlfriend has purchased the first kindle edition. Thanks, babes.
I was sitting at my desk this morning thinking about the description of the book… recovery from incest, rape, suicide… etc…. for a moment, I felt bad about mentioning incest. I had an urge to delete it, to censor my poetry. What if someone from the family sees it? Then the whole can of worms opens up again.
But why should I still feel the need to hide the truth? I felt, again, the familiar need and obligation to protect my family. After all, its ALL of our secret. Its not just mine to keep. Right?
This in itself is a healing process- unmasking the truth of the matter and not feeling ashamed. There is a definitely a feeling of conviction. Why did I have to suffer all those years by keeping my mouth shut and pretending not to feel nauseated every time I had to hug him at Christmas time?
Am I wrong for publishing that for the public? I don’t know what’s “right.” I only know what feels right, and that, for me is to not hide the fact that I was tormented as a teenager.
My godfather briefly pulled me aside yesterday and told me to be careful what I post on social media. I admit, I have a tendency to over-share. I announced my accomplishment with a preface along the lines of, “Look how far I’ve made it from my opiate addiction and my suicide attempt.” The broadcast had no other intention other than to let people know that people DO get better and there IS a way out of hopelessness. Yes, I over-share my private details, but I think that one day it will only make me a better spokesperson for the less-than-vocal victims of the world.
Anyways, I hadn’t thought about the consequences, for lack of a better term, of publishing the truth. On one hand, I feel obligated to protect others, but on the other, isn’t it my time to reclaim my life- my jaded adolescence?