To all of those that have read my book you can clearly see a kind of honesty about who I am and how I grew up and where I came from. Some would say too much honesty. When I began writing this book I was living in a small 10x8 apartment in Seattle. I was off drugs for about a year and had stopped drinking hard liquor and stopped being bulimic for about 2 or 3 months. I've always have been an honest person while writing and question if I should be honest now. I was adopted by my aunt before birth and grew up with her family. Me being visually impaired since birth has made finding work extremely hard. Like Hubert Selby Jr, I was disabled at a young age and just began to write. I wrote for myself and from the heart. I initially wrote Diary of a Compulsive Madness by hand in my journals and then transferred them by hand with part 1 and part 2 and 3 by computer. Cut them by size and glued them individually into sketch books. Two versions were made. The first one was to my father who lives in Oklahoma. The second one was to my adopted sister(cousin) who lives in Virginia. My sister apparently liked it and said that I should publish it. My father has yet to contact me though any way that is available. I've given him my number, my address. I've written him several times and no answer. The main problem that I have is that people take things out of context. I guess my father gave the copy that I sent to him to my sister J. and she gave it to my sister Octovia(not real name)and Octovia seemed to like it. Several hours later I get off work and see all these posts and private messages about how I have a problem with my sisters.
They are completely taking this out of context and she(Jess)have yet to read it for herself. I knew that what I was writing would upset people, but not to this extent. I've always written about people that I can't stand with love, because to me they deserve it. I'm not ashamed of what I wrote. It's honest and that's what I wanted.
I guess I just feel really depressed about the fact that what is rightfully mine(my original family)will never seem to be what I truly want and need.
After all these years of being honest and putting myself out there to the people that I love, I continue to struggle with who I am and where I come from