Sort of a Memoir

The truth is, I don’t have the courage to write one. They say the people who should never do. I can write sort of a memoir, but it might not look like what is expected of me. I don’t remember much when I try but in-between random moments of cooking and cleaning, I can go back to the nights giggling away when the full moon would make me crazy. I remember swimming in the dark and thinking “This must be what a Greenland Shark feels like”.

I remember sneaking away to my own sweet sixteen and the motorcycle ride I went on the next day. Holding on tight on the back of that bike. Lots of people showed up for me. What’s meant for me can’t miss me is like a mantra that sometimes breaks my heart. It’s so true. That, and comparison is the thief of joy.

Nothing compares to the exhaustion of dancing in Miami on New Year’s Eve, or the wonder of wondering how not to get caught sneaking a blueberry vape. The shame of seeing your car get repossessed or the fright of hearing a door being broken down with a sledge hammer. The self-betrayal of finding out you wasted your fertile years and the wisdom to become slightly (and comically, I might add) delusional instead of becoming violent.

I went dancing.

I went crazy.

I called the police on myself and got in the cop car, not cuffed because they said I was being “chill”. They took me to the hospital. The hospital held me all night before transporting me by ambulance to the mental care facility, where I did my three days.

The horror of seeing a hit and run happen in front of you. I became so grief stricken that I decided I was going to change the world. I tried to join the army and wound up in women’s shelter instead.

I screamed and cried. My tantrum was amazing, like a little grocery run in the middle of a hurricane. The power went out, but it was fine. I had to let go of the old dream. Even my therapist thought I sounded deranged when I would detail the situation, so I committed to letting it go and decided to forgive.

I hadn’t wasted my fertile years. I had gained knowledge.