With a warning: While this is not quite as depressing as my rendition of Autumn Leaves, it isn’t sunshine and roses, folks — as nothing is. I post it for my own sake and so that this story I’ve built about my life can be seen in its entirety, and not just for the warm, happy parts that we all love and live for. I’m sorry that I have been absent lately and will hopefully be visiting over the weekend. Best wishes to all, and please don’t let the quote worry you — it’s just me exploring a bit — the yin along with the yang, as it must be.
I’m sorry there is so much pain in this story. I’m sorry it’s in fragments, like a body caught in crossfire or pulled apart by force. But there is nothing I can do to change it. I’ve tried to put some of the good things in as well. Flowers, for instance, because where would we be without them? Nevertheless it hurts me to tell it over, over again. Once was enough: wasn’t once enough for me at the time? But I keep on going with this sad and hungry and sordid, this limping and mutilated story, because after all I want you to hear it, as I will hear yours too if I ever get the chance, if I meet you or if you escape, in the future or in heaven or in prison or underground, some other place. What they have in common is that they’re not here. By telling you anything at all I’m at least believing in you, I believe you’re there. I believe you into being. Because I’m telling you this story I will your existence. I tell, therefore you are. So I will go on. So I will myself to go on.
–Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale
