For decades I loved nothing more than to submerge my secrets in an underground cave where they would be safe from the eyes of the world. But somewhere along the line these secrets and their attendant silence became a deafening roar in the privacy of my psyche. I came to the point I thought I’d never reach: the unburdening of those things that I felt were too private to reveal. Part of this process had to do with becoming so at ease with myself that I no longer feared judgment. Part of the process was realizing that, despite what it seemed like at the time, my life had followed a distinct pathway that led me to my own inner fulfillment, however twisted and tortured that path may have seemed at many junctures.
At the worst moments in my life, I promised myself that if I made it through I would write a book. I wanted to write about those topics that my culture said very little about: depression, addiction, and that most sincere form of self-criticism, suicide.
I needed to break what to me came to feel like a “conspiracy of silence” surrounding the topic of childhood trauma and the ensuing damage suffered by those individuals who had lived through it.
For me, my book is a celebration of my life. A life that I at one time tried to escape from, and that I now fully embrace.
I enjoyed reading your posts… The deafening silence was very… relevant.