Sarah Nyhan

This is going to be really difficult. Every time I try to do this, I fall asleep. No matter what time of day it is.

I feel small and like a child now. Same as back then. So tired. So scared. So vulnerable.

Just wanting someone to take care of me. To be able to fall into someone’s arms and know that they will catch me and hold me and not let me go until it’s over.

I think now is the time to tell the story.

I don’t know how to tell it.

For the most part I try not to think about this stuff. Because it’s too close to my heart.

And it knocks me out physically.

Usually I need my robot thinking brain to kick in so that I can function and push through and survive.

I feel like all I’ve been doing my whole life is surviving. Trying to outrun sadness and fear. Trying just to get the basics of life figured out. Like food and shelter and transportation. I feel really bad and ashamed about that. I wish I wasn’t almost turning 40 and feeling like I’m barely 16.

It’s a difficult dance: acknowledging the past without being crippled by the temptation to identify only as a victim.

To be defined by the past. That’s another reason this is difficult for me.

I feel like the time has come to share my story with others, but I don’t want to be known as just the bad parts of my past. People are going to try to do that.

It’s like when I was a teenager and I made the self-harm links website. An author contacted me to promote her book and the after-school special movie included my website on their resources page. People from all over started emailing me in regards to self-harm. Heavy stories, asking advice. I was overwhelmed. I was only a teenager. An expert of sorts, but not equipped for the emotional challenge of interacting with so many people.

First, I abandoned the site. Then I shut it down.

My fear is either I’ll pour my whole heart into this book and no one will appreciate it. Or it will cause more harm than good. Or it will hit a nerve with so many people that I’ll be catapulted into the spotlight while feeling very vulnerable. Also, that by association, those in the story will also have to endure an onslaught of unwelcome attention.

That being said, I keep feeling like now is the time to write. To start to write.

I will regret it if I never finish before Sojourner gets to read it. She’s the number one. I hope she can read it and it will be a gift to her before she passes from this world to the next.

I will miss her so much. I don’t even think I can comprehend right now how much I will miss her. I try not to think about it. Because she told me before that we will have plenty of time to catch up in heaven. I don’t want to ruin the time here by being sad over something I have no control over. But I pray God gives us many more years and that she can read this and hopefully be able to see any impact it has. She’s the Maya Angelou to my Oprah.

Sometimes I dream Oprah will interview me about this story and it will help people all over the world. Pretty big dream for such a small-town girl. But Oprah is a dreamer also. A dreamer and a dream. Who would have predicted her story? Probably no-one to the extent that she has touched the world. I want to be like that. Able to spread hope and get people talking. Get people moving. Taking action in their own lives. Restarting conversations that will help us grow and be better and healthier.

Too big of a dream? Not for my God.

But at the end of the day, I hope at least Sojourner reads it. That will be mission accomplished. And hopefully a gift.

I have no idea where to start or how far to go. But let’s give this a shot.