A New Post On Emanon’s Journey
It’s been over a year since I’ve added a chapter to the Emanon’s Journey blog. It’s been a very difficult story for me to relate, up until now. In my daily life, the events which happened to “Emanon” are very far behind me, out of mind, and a world apart from my current reality. Writing about those days means reliving them - tearing myself out of where I am now, and dropping myself into a place that is sometimes painful beyond telling.
Putting myself into the right frame of mind has to be possible for me at the time, or I simply can’t write about it all. Hence - the long pause between chapters.
The chapter that comes after this one will make a transition from the earlier Georgia/”running and hiding” days, to when I met Doug, my husband. It should be a considerably easier chapter to write, and should not take me nearly as long to complete.
Those of you who haven’t read anything over on Emanon’s Journey yet, please don’t begin with this newest chapter. Try to begin at the beginning, which explains what the blog is all about, or at least begin with the “story” itself: “Such a Rainy Night in Georgia - Part 1.” That will give you more of an idea of what the blog is all about. Jumping into this latest post cold and unprepared … will just make it hard for you to understand what’s going on.
Years ago, I began to write an autobiography, knowing that if I could set things down the way they all happened - the abuse, the kidnapping, etc., that I would make a fortune if I could get the completed telling into the right hands. In less than a week, I abandoned the project. It was too painful, too difficult to relive. The immensely abbreviated version on the Emanon blog is difficult enough in the telling, although decades have passed since my first effort, and the events seem almost unreal - like someone else’s memories - when I think of them. Writing about them in detail, however, is another story, and unfolding those details as would be necessary in a book - is impossible for me.
And so - here I am, stretching my boundaries. Much of this is stuff that my closest friends don’t have the details of. How much easier it is to share the most painful, devastating details which a person’s memories harbor when doing so through the written word - especially when launching that word onto a large, nameless, faceless sea … than it is to sit in front of one quiet,attentive listener. There can be an amazing amount of anonymity and privacy in such a public medium.
The new post is entitled: “A Nightmare of a Different Color“







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