What is human history, if not a story?
Each one of us has a unique story to tell. Some of us tell tales of love. Some of us speak with a non-fiction tone, matter-of-factly describing our lives in detail. Some of us tell tragedies. But whatever your experience is, no one can tell you it isn't worth the chronicle of being written down.
My story is not a pleasant one. I am a person who struggles with many ailments. I have hearing loss, vision loss, Multiple Sclerosis, depression, anxiety, Crohn's Disease, and I'm positive for the BRCA-1 gene. I grew up in and out of hospitals, and should not be alive many times over. So I tell stories because I feel like I'm running out of time, and I am; like everything in my life, I do it in a hurry.
I tell stories through poetry, songs, and artwork. Now I tell stories through characters that reflect parts of myself and the people I love. I carry them with me wherever I go, and I love them with all of my heart, just like I do my children, my husband, my sister and father. Even my mother, who inspired many years of pain, is a great muse in my life.
Whether I run out of time in a year, ten, or fifty, one thing is certain. My story has only just begun.
Comments