|Taken by Aunt Genocide, about a year after the events depicted in this week's Blogger Idol|
One of the things the judges have always asked of the contestants is to keep our voices true. True to our writing, of course, but mostly, true to our blogs.
And sometimes, that's a problem for me. Because I have several voices in my head- I'm very schizophrenic these days.
Most of the time I have a blogging voice in my head, and I have a memoirist in my head. And they don't talk the same way- which is as much a surprise to me as to anyone.
|Me, a year or so before this week's Blogger Idol tale|
And then it came to me. Something I had never written about, never even talked about, but only because it wasn't exactly a secret anyway.
Everybody knew what was going on. It's just that almost nobody confronted me.
And my scars are still there, plain as day, for everyone to see. It's just that nobody asks about them.
So yes, this was a hard post to write. And I have no doubt that for those of my readers who knew me then, and who know me now, this will be hard to read. And I'm sorry for that. Feel free to vote and avert your eyes.
But I am proud of this little piece of storytelling.
And I am far enough away from the person I was fifteen or sixteen or seventeen years ago to look at her somewhat dispassionately, and to see and feel things from her perspective without actually BEING her.
Does that make sense?
Enjoy the post, please. And maybe learn from it a little bit.
And as always- please vote for me.