The Reluctant Narrator

The day I was diagnosed. That’s what first comes to mind. But they want me to start at the beginning. Maybe they mean something as simple as my childhood. I wasted my childhood not knowing. Then I wasted my teen years being in denial. But still, the image of my life scattered. Forcing me to collect new pieces to the puzzle. Pieces that will never fit. Yet my collection grows hopelessly. The second time I was diagnosed. That is the second event. Maybe it’s easier to start from that point in time. And explain everything more and more erratically. Until I’ve explained everything until this moment. Now I can narrate what is about to happen. You will walk away nervously. And I will walk away graciously. Going home to frantically write and scribble. Finding the right formula. There’s still a few more people left in my life who deserve an explanation. The day I was diagnosed… Is not what matters now.