Repost

Once I gave my father the very rough copy of his memoir, the major burden of my responsibility was lifted.  Before that I had been having terrible dreams  and very painful sensations when I became overtired. I punish myself worse when I am tired, because having spent all my energies, I feel frail, and this is not the standard of robust physical fitness my father expected of me.  My father had channeled his sense of blame toward me he required me to make up to him his own mother's failings in attention.

When I completed my own memoir finally, using sections of his own writing to fill in some of the missing historical and psychological details, I felt artistic satisfaction finally.  It was complete.  I had no longer any nagging self-doubts as I had had before.

Then recently I re-released my original memoir, which is in a relatively immature voice compared to the more advanced one.  At this point I felt that my younger, less jaded and wearied self rejoiced.  Suddenly I had an injection of energy and youth that I had been missing for a few years.  Clearly my younger self was thanking me.

The most significant change these days is that I lie down on the bed and dream and have no nightmares.  For years I had them all the time, as the urgency to get this work done built up.  The nightmares were not about writing, but about suffering of a sort that could not be communicated.  It used to be as if my brain had started to implode.