Where to Begin: When The Truth is (and isn't) Subjective

Welcome to my blog. Here are the 3 things you need to understand before you continue reading.

Not only am I sure that this preface is legally important, it is also of importance to you dear friends and readers to prepare yourselves.

As you read my narrative, you will find my history is filled with troubled fabricators of lies, half-truths, purposeful hate filled deceptions, and fragile tragedies far too difficult to be spoken aloud. The source material is fragmented, and there is likely no recourse to mend it. As such, I will be clear that my account of my ancestors' lives will not be 100% accurate.

Modern psychology is clear that an important part of resolving trauma is becoming a reliable narrator of your own personal story. 

Yet tragedy, sorrow, and premature death flow through my immediate family like a generational plague. Sadly life did not afford my direct ancestors, neither luxury, nor leisure to recall their stories in a healing space. They merely did best to survive through daily secrets, lies, and deceptions, all while doing their best to avoid the corresponding pain and grief. And for that, let their youthful deaths be a clear sign of the magnitude of what they endured.

History is told by the living who see a divine importance in remembering, writing, and telling the story.

In my 30+ years of life thus far, there are many in my story who are no longer living- including my great-grandparents, grandparents, and my own parents. Many have been gone for decades now. My grandparents were all dead prior to day I was born, with the exception of my paternal grandpa who was estranged. My maternal great-grandparents were gone before my mother reached full-adulthood, and it’s likely a tragedy for many that my paternal great-grandma was the only one still alive to raise my father and his siblings.

Death is a darkly tragic benefit in this particular scenario. As a youngish adult orphan, I am in a most unique position of having no real first-hand dissenters who would have their reputation tarnished by this story being published. With that said, the family tree is not fully barren. On both sides, I have living aunts, uncles, cousins, and so on, but no close family connections that would put me at unease to write this story. Indeed, my brothers and extended family still live as I write now, but I write this to and for them. I hope this gives understanding and another perspective of our shared and divergent family history.

This narrative is the unrelenting Pi of my truth.

It is 3.1415926…to the N-th degree of an accurate accounting of how I lived, remember, and experienced my life. Outside of my immediate family history, this is also a personal history of my experiences. Within my personal journey, there are many folks who still remain, and who may seek to disparage me by saying they remember a slightly different storyline or tale. There is one particular person, who arrives later in my life story that will likely especially disagree of my characterization and perspective of who they are and my experience with them. I promise it will be very clear who that person is later in the story.  But they are not writing this story. I am. And so, I can only speak to be truthful from the viewpoint of mine own. I can only see the figures and facts through the veil of mine own eyes.

But in case someone misses the not so subtle point that I am making here, I will be clear. Disbelievers and dissenters be directly forewarned. As I said before, I come from of long lineage of unreliable narrators, liars, and manipulators. So please believe me when I say, I couldn’t care less what specifics, facts, timelines, words, experiences, or other details you, my dear friends and readers, agree or disagree with.

Write your own damn story. My truth is my own, be it what it may.