Some days I wake up sad. I didn’t go to bed angry, hurt, or even hungry but I wake up starving. Starving for sunlight, for substance, for something that fills up all my empty parts. Something that makes every day stand out from the ones that surround it, something that keeps me from blocking days, weeks, and months from my memory. But then I wonder what happens when I find it, what happens when I’m full? And I remember all of the times I thought I was full, but really only full of habits and half-assed love . Stay hungry, sweetheart. Satisfy your cravings but stay hungry and stay hunting until you find what satisfies your soul.
If grad school taught me one thing it is to write about what scares me. And for two years I wrote intensively about things that terrify me. I wrote about things I’ve never spoken aloud and I took a fine-tooth comb through the memories I try hardest to white out. But now it’s my feelings and my memories that have scared me out of writing, scared that once I get it down on the page it might be true and once shared it will become something to someone else and they’ll be allowed to do as they please with my many truths. It’s this kind of fear that has kept me from sharing the work I spent two years and $100,000 producing and perfecting, assuming there is such a thing as a perfect truth.