Pushing Me Over the Borderline
Every time I write about my past, about my family, regardless of what I edit out or what I include, I seem to hurt somebody. Which is not hard to understand – families are complex and have many layers.
But when you want to tell your own story, because you are part of a family – just one small part of a larger whole, it’s really hard, really fucking hard to know what part of the story belongs to you and what part of the story is someone else’s. Someone else’s story to tell.
But very few stories just have one character in it. Other than Tom Hanks Castaway, on which he was stuck on a deserted island. Even then, he had a basketball he could talk to. We don’t live on remote islands, we are all very much influencers of each other’s experiences and also influenced by the actions of others.
Think of your life. Think of events that matter to you. That changed you. Were you the only person involved. Even if your story is that you struggle with an eating disorder, like bulimia, and the primary activity taking place is between you and a toilet – something got you to that point. Something in your life. Something bigger than just you and the toilet in that bathroom.
I am struggling here. I want to tell you more – I have not written about my family since the post I put up last week, My Family – Part 1, mainly because I realize that for my family, I have violated some of the boundaries for what they want the world to know.
So how can I be authentic as a writer, if I can’t set up the backstory? If I can’t peel back some of the onion, how does what I write make sense? I feel it’s like telling a story with one character, and I don’t know about you, but I found parts of “Castaway” to be really kind of boring.
Plus for me, it’s just not real.
If you are a blogger – how do you make that distinction? If you are a reader, what aspects of reading blogs where the writer opens up about their lives captures you?