It felt like a lie. It's not. What happened happened, my interpretation and search for answers got me caught, this is the way out. This is how human brains adapt and heal. A crutch does not belie a broken leg, a story does not belie the truth. It's an alternate route while the road is washed out, collateral blood flow around damaged tissue. The worry is persistent, unhelpful inflammation.
Not necessary to believe, only to tell myself a different ending, like a joke, to get myself laughing. The hard truths remain, beneath, steady and real. Doesn't mean I can't lay down padding and bright patterned upholstery. Just so I can sleep, if nothing else.
6 comments:
cool read! thanks!
Very happy new year, and very happy new story.
*tucks that article somewhere safe*
One of my favorite books is The Diamond Age by Neal Stephenson. My favorite of its themes is that we are the stories we tell ourselves. Plus it's a comic book adventure-y kind of a story. I'm going to read the writing exercises and see if that gives me some space with a challenge.
Your story is absolutely yours and you can use it and dress it up and sculpt it how you want.
(o)
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