from memory.

He tried to choke me once. Twice actually, but the second time seemed, for about 30 seconds, that it was real. It wasn't in anger, but it might have been in hate. In fact, if he were choking me any other way, I would have been much, much more afraid. But it was in the most loving way possible, in that he didn't kill me, and the look on his face reflected far more pain than I felt, even in the moment.

And there were others. They didn't choke me literally, but metaphorically I can't say that they didn't.

I had forgotten this story, but sometimes, in the night, I remember things. Important things. Like how I used to become involved with men who both loved me and wanted to kill me. Why? Because I didn't think it was true. Even now, I don't know if it's true.

That said, no matter what I say or write, everyone will decide their own reality based on what they can stomach, and that's o.k. for them, the same as it is for me. Maybe that's why I felt so much for someone who wasn't afraid to show me what was on the inside, when really it was so disgusting and inconvenient. It felt at very least like I'd discovered an undeniable truth. It made me so sad, not for me, but for all of the awful burdens the people all around us have to bear quietly.

I'm not afraid of people finding out who I really am. I'm terrified, however, of people deciding in their comfortable reality that I'm something I'm not. I know this isn't a healthy fear, and I know that I need to change this. Fear comes out in anger, and anger makes for all kinds of ugly, inconvenient displays--like choking people in the night, at least for that guy I once loved. But this is not a resolution. After all, there is no resolve for the past. It remains, regardless of what I change, and regardless still of who I've become. No, this isn't a resolution. It's acceptance.

I've found the strength and the will to pry all of those dirty fingers from around my neck. I've found a way to believe that regardless of how much love I have to offer, there are times when I should be afraid and many times that I shouldn't. And that I may not always know the difference. But being afraid of what is, and being afraid of what people think of me are two different things. I should probably work on fixing the latter, no matter what day of the year it is.

This may or may not be a true story. I'll never know, so you'll never know, but it's not pretty.

"Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is really worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass them on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It's okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise."--Miranda July