I no longer write looking for a different ending to a story that’s already behind me.
Jill Talbot/ Shelly McCuish
One if Ben and Jock’s favourite sayings to repeat is that most people would rather be right than happy.
I actually agree with this, but you have no idea how much, in this instance, I wanted to be wrong…
Being alone my whole life and believing that silence was the best way to protect from abandonment and rejection… To not be Real for fear of consequences… I believed that speaking, of having voice, would result in abandonment. I wanted to be wrong.
It was a self-fulfilling prophecy in that it’s no accident that I ended up in a place where my fears could be realized.
So if Anne Lamott is right that “forgiveness is giving up all hope of having had a better past,” I’ve sure as hell forgiven. Largely making the commitment of quitting the blog did that. You might think that I was unsuccessful but I no longer write with any hope of a different ending to a story that’s already behind me.
I stopped dissociating after I wrote it and the end result… I don’t recommend you try this at home. But if you do, have a good supply of cigarettes, coffee, candy and cats (one cat is a good supply, eight are too many.)
And you don’t have to give up hope of a better future…
I just went back to edit this post to quote myself at the top. Why? Sometimes I don’t recognize my own name, and this fear of my voice having power is getting really tedious. It’s time to own it. If someone else said it, I would’ve quoted them! It’s also the first time I’ve used my full biological name. And now I can never again use it in a story!
You probably already figured that out… At Haven the richness is in revealing all. In writing the richness is in the layers. Revealing all reveals nothing. I used to be an encyclopedia of TMI but no one knew me, especially those who thought they did… It is actually a great strategy, only one person ever saw it for what it was.
So hopefully the next time I get a magazine with my name in it, I know that it’s my name and my voice… At least, in part, a voice that came from me…
It’s no accident that I ended up in a place where my fears could be realized.
Uh oh, was that a fucking resolution?
I will let you know tomorrow… Or not.
By the way, I was told that a social worker called me Shelly because I looked like a shell. Until I learned that my biological mom named me after a cousin, this was my understanding. In the records that were held hostage from me… I think I answered the question on who benefits when truth doesn’t exist, when everything is just “your story.” Don’t misinterpret me though, I never claimed to always have truth. It’s also possible that the spelling is Shelley. I didn’t say that truth always matters. But sometimes, sometimes it matters more than anything…