The first chapter was easy, describing how we met and how it started.
I don’t know how many chapters it will ultimately be. I haven’t even gotten to the really fucked up shit yet. For the first time in a long, long time I find myself crying about it.
While I write it, I’m emotionless- I’m trying to search for the right words to make you feel what I want you to feel. But then after, I read it over and it hits me- this is real. It happened. It happened to me.
How do you deal with the emotions dredged up when you write memoirs?
No, really, that’s not rhetorical, I’m asking you. What do you do about it?