I feel compelled to explain my reasons for neglecting my dear blog. Though my list of followers is small, I consider them a solid crew of supporters. I have not abandoned Esse, but two recent life events have caused me to seemingly neglect her upkeep.
First life event: In November, I uprooted my life in Chicago and returned to Central Illinois. It was a quick decision and my heart’s been heavy ever since—that city resuscitated my soul. It was anguish to say goodbye, and I have yet to recover.
Second life event: I’m completing a memoir, and intend to have it published. No one is more surprised by this than myself.
The project began a little over a year ago when I was journaling about a haunting truth. I was at the round age of thirty-five—something about that number forced me into frequent contemplation—and I started perseverating on a sensitive situation. For eighteen years, I’ve had a perpetual angst scratching at my soul…there was something inside yearning to break free.
The journal entry morphed into the “manifesto” I mentioned in my blog post, “Thank you, Lena Dunham.” After arriving in Champaign last fall, I couldn’t keep up with my annual “Oscar Watch” because auteur films are not widely distributed in my new town, and my van wasn’t adapted until after Oscar season. Nonetheless, I was desperate to write something, and so, I returned to the manifesto.
Now, I’ve stretched that piece into a tale of love, sex, relationships and my interpersonal relationship with my body. I’m terrified of sharing such an intimate part of myself, but also invigorated. The process has been therapeutic, and I’m no longer haunted by my past. I’m owning it.