Sometimes it just doesn't matter.
You can lay out your perfect, step-by-step roadmap, but when it comes down to it, you're never really prepared for anything.
Back in primary school, I felt like I was living in a dream-like world.
It felt real, looked real, tasted real. But it wasn't.
As an adult I was diagnosed with a plethora of disorders, however, depersonalization disorder is the biggie.
It took me forever to start making decisions based on "Yes, Sara, there are consequences to everything you do and say".
I used to lie like it was truth.
I used to hurt myself and have no regard for human life.
Then, it hit me the day I found out I was pregnant with my first daughter.
"What the fuck are you doing, Sara? This shit is happening."
Granted, I still felt like reality wasn't reality.
(Probably made worse by vivid, lucid dreams that, when remembered, are tough to separate from reality.)
Well, I was always "dreaming" in my mind, so it never really mattered, did it?
My diagnosis could've been the end of the world for me. Because I didn't know if I wanted things to actually be real anyhow.
But, it did help.
For one, it showed me that I'm not the only person who feels like they're in a Matrix-like world. And two, because I know I can feel, and be and do more of the things that make me a good human being.
A good, contributing member of society.
In some ways, I still feel stinted. But in others, I feel like my afflictions have given me a wider span of vision to glimpse at the world through.
My muddied mind might actually be the clearest in the room.
Especially since it's just me and the dog at the moment...
What do I want to do with this?
Hmm… Good question.
It had just started to rain and the dog was whining at the back sliding glass door.
I don't want to get my hopes too high, but it's something to look forward to.
"What do you want it to be?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you act like I haven't done anything over the last three years. Three years..."
So much stuff. What's the goddamned point?
Time seems to slip away faster now.
If only I could take them with me.
'How's your business going?'
'Fine.' I hate it.
If only he knew her, then he'd understand.
'I wouldn't do it again, if that's what you mean,' I said, pulling my MacBook Pro closer to me atop the long work table in the mall.
What was she thinking?
My fingers are crossed, but I'm not sure if that's enough anymore.
They always end up letting you down.
It always happens in droves.
She caught me with the knife when I was sixteen, maybe seventeen.
I like being flawed. It gives me something to write about.
I let my kids examine my naked body yesterday.
There's no winning with blame.
Every time I think I'm getting better at this whole life thing, I do something wrong and set it back.
It was cold that day. Odd for Florida.
I gave twenty dollars to a woman on the side of the road today.
I like getting older.
There's something about with age and experience comes wisdom that's exhilarating.
The bad thing about family is you can never escape the past.
They remember everything.
I'll see this one through, I tell myself. I'll finish it.
After this, I'll put it to bed. After this, I'll move forward.
I'm the one who makes the show happen.
I was supposed to be an artist.
She asked me.
On her deathbed, she told me.
Something I learned as a visual artist and writer is that some of the best healing comes from expression.
There's something surreal about standing in front of a crowd of strangers—writers who all want the same thing.
At the end of the Writers In Paradise sessions, everyone got a chance to present a refined version of their submitted work, or a new story they were working on.
I was the only teenager at Writers in Paradise with Dennis Lehane, Sterling Watson and other well-known authors back in 2006.