This whole process has been so surreal in so many ways. All I ever wanted was to compile my work into a collection and print a handful of copies. Tangible evidence that I’d done it, something to take off the bookshelf every so often when my mental illness had all five fingers wrapped around my throat. Proof that these events, these stories not only survived but made beautiful, poetical, and healing.
A few years back I started the mental journey to where I am now, though the vantage from this current place, it is difficult to imagine it’s the same path. I started writing with a purpose, not strictly letting the words escape but cataloging and categorizing pieces. Attempting to let my pieces tell me what the topic of the book would be. I didn’t set out to write an in-depth account of surviving abusive relationships, but we write what we know, right? My whole life has always been about relationships and human connection, for better or worse. As though my existence was somehow contingent on how I was perceived by other humans. Every connection is a monkey bar to the next. As the pieces started to demonstrate this non-linear chronological path toward the present, I began to come to terms with the idea that this book may not just be for me. With much misgivings, even now, I started to realize that my experience may help others on their own path to healing.
Once the book started to take its shape my editor told me that I needed to begin making social posts on a weekly basis to talk up the publication process. I reached out to a friend regarding suggestions on what should be included in these begrudged posts. Fully expecting a couple of bullet points, keep it short, make it graphics-focused, something uplifting. Instead, I received back multiple paragraphs of wisdom. Part of this instructed that first I needed to make not only professional social accounts but also an author website. I felt sufficiently baited and switched. My writing feels to be mirroring this ideology of this-then-that, I’m desperately trying to finalize the layout and I can’t stop writing. As though the book itself is demanding more ink to be bled. It is a beautiful problem that I never thought I would have. Thank you for joining me on this roller coaster, who knows what the next free fall will bring?
Imperfectly yours,
Siobhan Darling
I am in constant awe of the bravery with which you face face life. You are a force of nature and a gift of a human. Thank you for all that you share and all that you are. You are a rare individual, unapologetically a bright light that illuminates those around you.