Maybe that is why folks write memoirs?
It is a process of unburdening. I think of Mary Karr and her death-defying memoir "The Liar's Club." I think of Patti Smith's beautifully fabulous "Just Kids." I am currently re-reading Jim Carroll's (Catholic Boy), stark, hilarious diaries, from the 60's and 70's.
There is something about a "voice," a writer writing about experiences, directly. The human thing rendered sentence by sentence. Imagining and re-imagining. You learn about fallibility, and hopes and dreams, and shattered lives, and wrong turns and dark shit. And life. The living of a life.
You are left with the writing. Words on a page. The book in your hands. And there is hope there. Hope in the holding and the telling and the reading of the tale.
