I want to stress that I have not named - anywhere - the anonymous figures in my book. I know it's driving certain people mad that I won't name them, to the point of putting words in my mouth, but this is my stance. My psychiatrist and my three significant love interests are all anonymous for a reason. Below is an essay on the process of writing memoir, the full version of which appears in the current issue of Psychologies magazine:
"There’s a store in Los Angeles called Luckyscent, at which I have spent many a paycheck on perfume. Coming home with the classic Fracas, the cult Loukhoum, the obscure Magical Moon, I’ve been chasing a dream that intimates and passersby alike would smell me and nod, “Oh, I get her! I understand what she’s about!” I would never have to try to explain myself – moreover, I would never fail to explain myself. I wanted perfume as a stand in for written memoir. I found a lot of beautiful scents. But I never found “me”.
The publisher of my novels had long suggested I write a memoir. Knowing any memoir of mine would cover sexual trauma, nervous breakdown, self-mutilation, suicide, I wasn’t ready. It was only when the psychiatrist who had completely turned my life around – and who I’d been with for a decade - died suddenly and young, that I put pen to paper. I did so because I felt lost without him and because I wanted to honour his memory. The name of the book, ‘Your Voice In My Head’, is a reference to his widow’s belief that I’d internalized Dr.R’s wisdom.
I had a trove of documents to draw from: reports from the ER and psych hospitals, my suicide note, reams and reams of love letters from my then boyfriends, my Mum’s emails to my father updating him on my progress when I was still being held on a psychiatric 2121. In the end, I also got access to my psychiatrist’s notes about me – a colleague of his guided me through them.
If I say I worried very little about exposing myself in this memoir, I should explain that the classic hallmark of mania (and it has always been mania, not depression, that has gotten me in trouble) is “act now, think later”. Cutting, bingeing, purging, romantic and sexual recklessness, they all seemed like good ideas at the time. Likewise I didn’t have any pause between recalling my darkest moments and getting them on the page (in fact getting things on the page made dangerous memories feel safe). If I have regrets, they will, unfortunately for me, be after publication. That said, as I wrote I did worry hugely about exposing others. What gave me the courage to move past that fear, was a letter from the partner who sent me reeling towards the end of my story (without Dr. R around to help me anymore). The letter said “I love you so much that, if for any reason this doesn’t work out, I accept that you have the right to write about me and I know that it may not be flattering”.
Because of the internet, I am linked to several of the men who are part of my story - and I’m unable to stop readers guessing at who they are. It was important to me that these men have the chance to read and alter anything that bothered them before the book went to press. One disagreed with a memory – I thought he was losing a fight, he thought he was winning a fight. The next liked the book so much he said “Put my name in” (I didn’t). The third said that I should remember us the way I remembered us and that he didn’t need to see it. I am grateful to all of them.
As for my parents (to whom the book is something of a love letter) my Dad read it and simply called me on grammatical errors. My Mum just asked me to take out the word “pussy”. I suspect she was so relieved when it was gone, she probably let a lot of things slide.
There’s a specific sex scene – some would call it a rape scene, I am most comfortable calling it a transgression - that was difficult to write because I’d not thought of it in years. And it was really difficult to show to my Mum because I just didn’t know if I’d ever told her or not. I felt like I had, over fifteen years earlier, but I wondered if I’d dreamt it because it was never discussed again. I guess I hadn’t told her. She said “It was good to finally know what happened to you in San Francisco”.
In terms of censoring myself, I really had one rule: No writing about people’s kids. A couple of the men in my story did have them. One played his daughter against me, which would have been interesting to read, I’m sure. Another had a kid I’d almost consider a soul mate - also interesting. But either recollection would have breached my ethical comfort zone.
I deliberately altered some geography – one man from my youth was from a very specific culture, so specific that it made him identifiable. It wasn’t until I put him down on paper that I saw what a toxic person he truly is. I self-censored because I am afraid of him.
The last portion of the memoir was happening as I was writing, so it wasn’t a case of remembering, so much as processing. Several US publishers were disturbed that I had no distance on the final chapters. They felt discomfort that I was in such pain as I was writing.
My sister was clear with me that there are anonymous readers who will jump to the wrong conclusions about me from my book or even the very idea of my book. Some people will think I’m brave, some will think I’m attention seeking. I know what I really am. I have Dr.R to thank for that.
That idea of scent has returned to me as reviews begin to come in. What’s sour to some can be sweet to others and what some find overpowering, others find subtle. I said to my sister “I honestly believe that if the contents of this book are the worst things that will happen to me, I have been incredibly lucky” and she replied “I don’t agree with you”. I was shocked. I don’t feel sorry for myself, at all. But I have to wrestle with the notion that others might.
In my favourite memoir, ‘Fat Girl’, Judith Moore summarizes the liberating process of writing the book: “As I recounted those boys in my second-grade class or my terror on weigh-in days or the beatings with the belt when my mother hissed, “I’m going to cut the blood out of you,” I felt relief.”
Writing this memoir kept my head above water. It saved me. Which is great, but why publish it? There’s the idea it may help other people. But, truthfully, the more I’ve turned the question over in my head, the more I have just one answer: because I’m a writer. "
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