Why I’m writing my life story at aged 32

I’ve started writing, again, I’m attempting, not for the first time, to write my whole life story, from the beginning, until present day, with a few detours.

I’m thinking of calling it ‘Not dead yet Mofo’ or perhaps ‘Fat Fairies Can Fly’.

I was once told by a complete random at a rave, whilst dressed in fairy wings and size 14 jeans, that ‘fat fairies can’t fly.’ My face must’ve fallen, or perhaps he realised I was quite young and actually very pretty for a fat bird because he looked instantly guilty and apologised. I smiled and told him ‘I’m already flying!’ because I am resilient and kind and was off my tits. But it’s stayed with me, it still stings a bit to recall that, and that’s exactly why I want to write about my life.

I’ve seen some thing man, awful terrible things. And some of these things still have the ability to hurt me as though they happened yesterday.

Writing is pretty much the only therapy that I have at the moment. I am a sensitive soul, with some sort of weird brain function (or lack of) and I seem to be able to write about it in ways that people can relate to, even the darker stuff, especially the darker stuff.

I’ve tried to write more positive stuff (I do a good sideline in erotic fiction) and although I enjoy it, it’s not my strong point, perhaps because I am not as well practised in the art of happiness where as I’ve used writing as a way of dealing with some of the more difficult emotions and events since I was a child.

I’ve always wanted to help people, for my bad experiences to be put to some good use so it hasn’t all been nothing, beyond me developing my own wisdom and self awareness. So I figure writing about it could help someone, anyone who’s been through similar, or perhaps wants to understand some of the issues I write about like mental illness, addiction and childhood sexual abuse.

There are certain people and identities that I need to protect, certain stories I cannot tell fully, because they overlap with others life stories that are not mine to tell. Other people are no longer around to defend themselves or give their side of the story, so I have to take great care in how I share my past, I will undoubtedly have to omit certain details. Even if it is never published, or only read by a few loved ones, it will be out there, it will spill a drop of myself turned to a ripple into a wave, of what, I don’t know.. inspiration? Honesty? Authenticity? Validation?

But mainly I am writing this for me, in the hope that the purge will help rid me of some demons, heal some old wounds, clear a way for new thoughts and motivation and memories. I hope that it will encourage me to write more, to be more ambitious, to spread my wings in terms of what I write about.

I want to do it now while I have the time and the will to get myself out of this rut that I am in. I’m in the slow process of trying new treatment for ADHD, but my NHS support is limited and I only really have myself to rely on to get me out of this.

My good friend told me to stop procrastinating and work with what I’ve got, and so I am.

It is time for this fat fairy to fly.

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