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I am writing a roman a clef sort of...

although it reads like a memoir it is a lot more novel than truth...I have gotten through some very painful areas of the novel and have been able to put aside old feelings about events that are similar to that of my female protagonist, however, I have wandered into a minefield of other old memories, long suppressed of people, places and events that were more than just painful, they were excruciating. I am fictionalizing everything and having fun dissecting issues that seemed so very important at one time, however, when the real emotions come up and slap me in the face it get so frustrated and angry because I thought they had been resolved so long ago.

My picture of my cat on this article has my little Ruthie pretending to be asleep so she won't be put outside. I think that like Ruthie I have pretended that things were gone and out of sight. My eyes were closed, I was numbed, asleep, healed...didn't have to feel things that had once hurt me. Even fictionalized I find the pain all to real. I have to find a way to finally exorcise this old garbage so that it leaves me alone for good. Perhaps in writing this novel I am finding a way to remove the emotional baggage that haunts me even when it is buried deeply and not part of my daily life.

In the meantime I feel sorrow for the young woman who was so hurt by people that she loved and cared about. I wish she knew then what she knows now. She would not have been hurt and would have survived the ugliness ever so much better. I am glad to be letting go of her old pain. It is time for it to be totally in the past where it belongs.

I am looking at the world with my eyes wide open, not closed like Ruthie but rather totally aware of my surroundings and feelings. Goodbye old pain you are being banished forever.



White Trash Foot

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