It is time. Time to share my story. My family and friends have heard snippets. My therapist has sat on the floor of my dark closet, by my side, as I tore open the long-sealed and hidden storage boxes of my memories, as I rifled through their contents, sometimes in terror, other times in awe. It is time to dump those contents onto the floor and allow others to sort through the trauma and find hope in the chaos. It is there. I promise.
