Story of Dissociation

My story needs to be told.

I feel like I might never feel comfortable in my own skin until I get to tell a substantially complete version of my story from my own perspective. I don’t want to die and have all of my story left untold or told in bits and pieces by other people. Who lives, Who dies, Who tells your story? I want to be the author, the director, the makeup artist, the creative dance instructor of every set stage and choreographed movement. I want to act it out myself so I can accurately depict the anger, frustration, confusion, and desperation. And also to express the creativity, the dissociation, the love, and the fight. I will never feel as if my life’s work is complete until I tell my story - until others care.

As the physical struggles in my life came to an end, an internal war ensued. To this day, the war in my mind rages on, making incredible marks around the world of my brain, touching on every facet of every issue I have uncovered in my time. Yet, it feels as though these battles mark only little progress — and often setbacks — to the larger cause at issue. I cannot keep containing the same arguments and debates within myself. I need to share them with the world. So that when I die - what I have learned from this life does not.

It might seem like a selfish endeavor, and absolutely that is part of the truth. But the bigger part of truth is the sense of obligation I feel. Sometimes I feel like the bystander, the one within a body that has such an incredible story to tell. It is not mine. But it is mine to tell. Maybe it is mine. Just caught myself dissociating again.