I started reading a memoir last night called Kid Rex, and I think it is very very well written and honest. And when I read this part last night, I felt like I was reading something from my own personal journals, which was kinda crazy. So I wanted to post it on here because I love the way she has written thoughts, feelings, and fears that I somehow have a hard time expressing. Also, because I know there are many others out there who feel this way too.
How are you supposed to describe what you do for a living when what you actually do is struggle to live? Many years of my life have consisted of attending doctor's and therapy appointments in a maddening attempt to unscramble my mind and ease the disquiet in my soul. Any "accomplished" individual would think I'm crazy, pathetic, or simply disposable...
... I have not yet found a way to make peace with all my troubling memories. I must relive them, over and over, until I can build some sort of life for myself again. So perhaps the next time someone asks me what I do, I should just boldly declare, "I am waging the war of my life!" After all, shouldn't that be considered an accomplishment on par with beating cancer or surviving a plane crash? Then maybe I could also tell them, if they cared to delve a little deeper, that no one truly chooses to live in a ghost world. This was a burden that was placed upon me."
(excerpt from the memoir Kid Rex)