Recently, I received an email from a gentleman who started following my blog after I wrote the Open Letter. He was wondering if I could write my story in one post. He pointed out that in order to follow what happened to me one has to read every post because I never wrote the story in a single post.
I actually get a lot of requests to do this. Every time someone ask me to do it, I think about it. The people always make a compelling argument. Most have read the blog and want to share my experiences with a loved one, but it’s hard for them to get a spouse, a girlfriend, a coworker to read the entire blog. It would be helpful if I could write my story concisely. Each time I explain why I have not done so, I am met with kindness and understanding. The response from this man was no exception.
Here is the problem: as crazy and insane as some of my posts are about that day they are true representations of what I was going through. They tell the story. The fear, the uncertainty, the inability to say what happened. Trying to making everything alright, trying to appear alright, wanting to be alright. Burring my feelings. The anger, the loneliness, the craziness I felt after E revealed the truth. The shame, the guilt, the emptiness. How it came out was authentically how I felt. My story is spread out over several posts because that is how I dealt with what happened…in pieces. There are still many details of that day that I have never written about, many I have only spoken about with a few and some I have never spoke about. I write it either as I am able to deal with it or as a way to help me deal with it.
On the rare occasion I have sat down to write the complete ordeal out, I draw a blank. I can’t find the words. Everything I write seems contrived and sensationalized. I don’t know how to tell my story in that way. I just don’t think it is possible for me to do and for that I apologize. My story is found throughout this blog and for now that is how it will have to remain.
Some ask if I could just go through the posts and organize them on the side bar. That does seem like a good alternative, but I am not ready to revisit them. I didn’t mean for this blog to become anything, so I didn’t tag or organize it, honestly I didn’t know what a tag was, but my poor computer skills aside, the point is, for me to find those posts, I would have to read them and I can’t. I have had several online magazines and higher profile blogs ask me to write my story or send a post I have already written about the mugging, but I never have(the one exception was for Aaron). This blog is a journal of my story. Raw, mostly unedited, authentically me. Much of what I have written here is painful and as I have had the ability to move on I have never gone back and reread any post about that day.
The email exchange ended like this…
Of course I understand,
Just know that your story is inspirational and not just to women. I think I prayed for about 20 minutes after reading it the first time. For protection over you and your family and then protection for mine.
He prayed for protection over me…humbled does not even begin to describe what I felt reading those words. How odd that the worst day of my life has brought me so many blessings. I hate that. I hate that so much and yet, I am beyond thankful for it.