For the thing which
I greatly feared is come upon me,
and that which I was afraid of
I was not in safety, neither
had I rest, neither was I quiet;
(from William Styron’s Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness)
I’m finally looking at the memoirs out there on PTSD. I’m not too enthused, aside from Jessica Stern’s Denial
(what I read of it–it was too triggering at the time). I’m interested in reading Styron, though that seems to be about depression. There’s Beyond the Tears: A True Survivor’s Story
by Lynn C. Tolson (which I know nothing about yet). The Endless Tour: Vietnam, PTSD, and the Spiritual Void
by Amy Snow looks kind of interesting. There’s, of course, Kay Redfield Jamison’s work, but that’s a focus on Bipolar madness. There’s more of course but they’re not quite what I’m looking for. At all. But even Stern’s is more scientific, factual, data data data. I’m looking for what I’m trying to write–a memoir, literary obviously, on what it’s actually like having complex PTSD (and psychosis, bipolar disorder, dissociative amnesia, depersonalization–ok basically madness). Literary madness. I have a story to tell, only it’s not so much a story but fragments, pieces and clues, wholeness and the void–all that I am. I’m teetering on whether I’ll be able to do it, whether I should attempt what could go nowhere–aside from the healing that comes from writing, which really, is enough, it’s definately somewhere. I’m writing for myself. But I’m also writing for awareness, even though that wasn’t my original intention. I couldn’t see that far ahead then.
So I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to attempt this. It’s tricky. Jessica Stern’s memoir is a memoir about PTSD, not the events. Clever. But not my route. It’s tricky because of the nature of PTSD and it’s other worldly void you’re dropped into, and then all the pieces and forgotten memories that come through your body–how the hell do you write that? in some kind of order? that’s believable? I have essays and bits and poetry and narratives all over, but the POINT I’m making isn’t about the facts, it’s about the fiction I live in. This is gonna take a looooonnnggg time.