Wednesday, 1 June 2011


Writing my heart break story is having an interesting, somewhat troubling affect on me. I find myself feeling pressured (by what?) to document a journey from darkenss to light, sadness to happiness, trial to victory. Like somehow, if I get to the end of 100 days and can't say I'm all better, life's shiny and bright, and I'm completely healed, then I've failed this whole writing exercise.

This is my conundrum. How do I stay true and authentic in documenting my story, and not succumb to the subtle but nevertheless increasingly present urge to write a happy ending?

(Why am I documenting it anyway, if not just to pour out the things that are tearing away at my insides, my heart? Why would I layer an agenda over that? Is it some form of denial?)

Maybe the bigger and more dangerous question is, what if I get to the end of my 100 days and there's still nothing shiny and bright about life at all? What then? Where to from there? What if this miserable numbness is it, for life?

Do I maybe want to write myself a happy ending because the enormity of going through all of this and getting to the end feeling no better about a life without you, is just more than I can bear to imagine?

Probably, I think.

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