When I started the New Year in 1987, I had just two goals in mind: To enroll at university and to fix my relationship with my dad. Those goals led to a third goal, which was to uncover the truth about my dead mother and stepfather.
I almost regret digging for answers.
Persistence is one of my stronger traits. In fact, I can’t seem to slow its momentum, even when it almost kills me.
That ignorant drive is probably the reason the book was written in the first place.
I opened the book with this simple phrase: By the time my story begins, it’s already too late to change anything. Sounds pointless, doesn’t it? And yet, I felt determined in those 10 days to prove myself wrong.
Having 10 days of my life condensed into a novel feels surreal. I keep asking myself, ‘Am I pitiable? Pathetic?’ I should have stuck up for myself harder and earlier. I know this. But I really did do the best I could. Hopefully people can see that.
Aside from publishing the narrative, they turned me, and the people from my life, into illustrations! More than 70 of them made it into the final paperback release of Finding Ecstasy.
I think they did a pretty good job capturing my likeness, but I’m disappointed they kept the scar on my face.
A few of my peers told me the mark looked pretty badass when I was in school. Had they known how I got that scar, they might have felt differently. I asked the publishers to erase it from my depiction; they said it would make the story less authentic. Couldn’t argue with that.
All in all, I’m glad this part of my life was captured in story form. Even though it doesn’t make me look heroic or worthy of respect, it’s accurate, and that’s what matters.
And, if you can relate to any of it, I’m sorry.
