Writing Dangerously

Pat Conroy in his book, “The Reading Life” talks about his love affair with the English language: “I have always taken a child’s joy in the painterly loveliness of the English language. As a writer, I try to make that language pitch and roll, soar above the Eastern Flyway, reverse its field at will, howl and reel in the darkness, bellow when frightened, and pray when it approaches the eminence or divinity of nature itself. “

That is well and good for Conroy and I can understand how he loves language, but I didn’t start off with that love. Don’t get me wrong, I love language and the words on paper and how the meanings of words sing to me of things, ideas and even about people who lived long ago and even those who live now. I loved writing at first because it put terms and thus validation to what was happening to me. Language made me feel less alone in the world and the horror of my childhood became less of a nightmare because words made it seem like I could share it with others and that there were other human beings who were suffering as much as I was. Later I found out through words that people suffered far more than I did.

For instance, the words or term of post traumatic stress was a miracle when I came onto it and realized that this was what I had and why I acted the way I did. I went to see therapists at the Veteran Administration and would ask them what was wrong with me and the idiot would answer, “why do you need to know?” He would never say. Finally, in my reading I found the answer which was validated by a therapist in Redding, CA. I felt such a sense of relief and also that I finally knew after all of these years.

Perhaps that is why I found the concept of “dangerous writing” so appealing if I understand it correctly is that it seemed to give me permission to write the things that happened to me and to disregard the taboos that is placed on me if I was to tell the world and myself what happened and what still lurks in the shadows of my mind. Tom Spanbauer has his own reasons for writing what he wants to write and I have mine.

It’s ironic in that Conroy went through his own Hell with an abusive father but he had a loving mother. He wrote about it in his novels. I had no such thing. I had two abusive parents and attempts to bond with my mother did not work. I bonded with a brother to some extent and I bonded to books and to an inner world I would escape to during moments of abuse. What makes this whole process even worse was the way I did it. To escape the horrible abuse, I split into different and complete personalities and when I tried to get help for them the medical establishment, in part, disagreed whether or not this process even existed. I am talking about Dissociated Identity Disorder or DID or Multiple Personality Disorder or MPD. It was something to the public to titillate about and not something that saved me from becoming a psychopath. I survived and was abused further by an ex-husband.

I lucked out and I believed it was with spiritual help I found a hypnotherapist who helped me to integrate which I did. I then began to start the process of forgiving although I don’t think that is the right word. I wanted to stop being mad at those individuals so I can get on with life; but I needed to learn from those lessons otherwise I would be taken advantage as I was last year by my own son and his father. I needed to stop living in the same swamp of ugly hell my parents had put me in and escape from those who would attempt to put others including me for whatever reasons. I need further healing so I can let go. I also think I am not the only one in this particular place as I learned years before. There are others who went through what I want through. Maybe I can help others.

I think Spanbauer is right in that one can find redemption and detachment through writing through writing dangerously. If this is what is meant by dangerous writing then I agree. For such a long time I have been trying to figure out how to write what I want to write and was stymied by the inability to do so. Now, I am beginning to see a glimmer of light.