I just want to put everything on the table, like this lady did. She took off all her clothes then stood on a platform in the middle of NYC while her unique outfit was painted on stroke by stoke.
In the same way, I’d like to demystify my life. Tell the truth. For me growing up, everything was such a secret. No one said how they really felt and I couldn’t get a straight answer about anything that mattered. People’s feelings and thoughts were hidden in sarcasm or blame or silence and you had to guess what was going on. Really. I had no idea if my parents even liked me there was so much intrigue in my life.
So now, I can’t help myself from just saying the truth. Revealing everything so people can see it and we can all be talking about and reacting to the same thing, without the confusion of hidden meanings and cloaked references.
That must be why people often react to my memoir by saying it is strikingly honest, or transparent. That I have been courageous in telling my story. To me it is about compulsion. I am compelled to tell you what really happened rather than hide it in stories that hint.
It is scary and daring and cold out there with no clothes on, but it feels better to reveal my truths than to hide them and hope that someone will see through it all to who I really am.