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December 21st, 2009

bbk2132

01:46 am - perhaps my memoir will start with an intro that goes something like this... My earliest childhood memory is not a memory at all but instead a feeling. The feeling of dread surrounding the end of the school day because I knew that I would have to go home. I can't say when I began to feel this, but this is the earliest sign of anything being wrong that I can remember. I have this image in my head of myself standing alone on the playground, staring at the staircase that lead back up to the school building and I am not sure if this is a true memory or a just a manifestation of emotions, but that image holds all of these emotions. I can see those cement stairs so clearly, surrounded by green grass and leading up to red doors. And I can feel the dread and the anger and the pain. I can feel how heavy each step was. I don't know where all of this started. But it started with going home. A librarian once told me that the value in an autobiography is in the emotions. And that we value an autobiography more than a biography because we can hold people accountable for having conviction in their own emotions. As time goes on we may forget the facts, but we never forget how we feel. The beauty of a story is the authors emotions, and the memories come from there. I am here to give you a story, my story. I will tell you how I felt my whole life, and let the words and memories flow from there. In keeping honest with the readers I will tell you that today as I start writing I have very few memories of my childhood, and that of those that I have none take place in my own home. I am sure I felt a need to disassociate with that place, and for that reason it is all dark to me. I hope that the act of writing and exploring my emotions will help me find those memories again. And so I would start my journey by drawing upon the earliest memory I can recall; I am standing alone in the playground, and i hear the whistle blow saying the day is over, and I look up. The sky is grey, the wind is blowing, and my eyes move to a cement staircase, surrounding by green grass leading its way up to red, wooden doors.

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