Writing my Book was the Cheapest Therapie ever.
What a crazy mental fuck it has been.
I started to write almost three years ago.
The first chapters about Sven went down in several hours, words came like raindrops, and I was feeling fantastic.
Then it became tough to write about my grandmother’s death.
Having to go back and witnessing her excrement through her mouth, or vegetating away in a coma, was and always will be a Dark place to revisit.
I kept reminding myself, that there is a more significant purpose to this book.
So I kept on placing words and then full stop!
I didn’t write for about 18 months, as these were charged with complete disaster and self-disrespect, that writing wasn’t in the cards.
I mean I was fighting for pure survival.
Not so long ago, there was a moment in Munich, I remember it well as the Paris Terror Attacks just occurred, where Kamil and I had just enough money to pay for one more night at the Hotel, and all we had left was seven Euros.
I’m serious, we had no one to ask for money anymore and one more night, and we were homeless.
No place, no friend to go to anymore!
So writing wasn’t up there.
Then last summer of 16, I started allowing myself a whole new look at what I already wrote, and I started all over again, but soon found myself entirely unwilling to revisit those horrid times.
I was in a better place, and I just refused to go back! I needed to heal a bit more!
So I stopped again, then finally last November of 16 I decided no matter what, to write and I did.
I had massive issues with organising the chapters and what to call them, so I just decided to name each story a “moment” as my life had changed within moments.
I changed that again as well.
The phone call in Paris about my grandmother lasted maybe 2 minutes, and I was off to prepare my departure away from Paris and never came back.
That moment changed my life!
My life turned upside down in a mere 28 days!
It totally changed!
I had been entirely changed!
Sure we learn, we grow or we destroy in time, but the real change comes in a moment.
I had to stop worrying about what you, my BM or my sister might think about me, as I needed to tell my story truthfully.
I needed to be real as only then authenticity bloomed — something I believe in very much.
And most importantly I needed to forgive myself.
Forgive me for being so horrible to myself.
I started to heal because of this book.
If one person can liberate themselves from their abuser or understand their core problem better, then it was worth every single aggravating and painful moment!
From my book “THE LOSS OF SELF”