Yes, I’ve been avoiding writing this. I’ve known I’ve needed to write this, explore this, for a few weeks. Longer, really, but it had been buried deeper. I’ve been thinking so much about this book I’m going to work on for the next year. I’ve got ideas about the topics I’m going to write on, the structure I want to use/create, the characters I’m going to need and want, and their arcs. There are so many things that go into a book, especially when you’re trying to create a new form, an experimental work.

And the most important question appears: why?

Why am I writing?

Why this story?

Why this character?

I want to say that these are impossible questions, but they aren’t. They are the reason we write. We write to explore ourselves, to make ourselves uncomfortable. I always avoid the uncomfortable. I like to think that everyone does. But now I need to lean into it.

I suppose that the main reason I am interested in this subject is because I like challenging topics. I like books that quietly, unpretentiously, grapple with compelling, scary issues.

I’ve always felt that the foster care system is simply interesting to me. It’s not something I have experienced or ever imagined I would experience. It creates stories all by itself. But interesting is not enough. It’s not enough to devote so much time and work to. There are plenty of things that are scary about the system, but what part of it makes it scary enough for me to pursue like this?

I think it has to do with family. My story keeps moving towards being more and more family-centric. I have a family. A broad family. I always have my parents to fall back on. I have grandparents and aunts and uncles who would travel halfway around the world to help me. I have cousins who I know would open their doors to me in a pinch. And I have family friends who have made it clear that their doors are open in an emergency.

These are comforting things to know. So what happens when someone doesn’t have that comfort. I know that many people don’t. I know that I am immensely lucky. And so of course I find life without that support to be terrifying.

So I take it to extremes. What if you lost that support over and over again? What if now you are losing that support to death? What happens when your world changes so drastically and you’re not very good at handling that?

I’m pretty good at handling things. I don’t know why. I guess my mom did a decent job on me. I went through my struggles pretty smoothly. Which is not to say I don’t have my issues. I’ve got plenty. But others have more.

I suppose these complicated personal issues, mental health issues, are something that interest me. It’s hard to live with, hard to have relationships with. But if everyone who has a mental health issue didn’t get to have great, healthy relationships, our species wouldn’t exist. That’s what I tell people around me all the time, because I live in a complicated relationship, like many people.

On top of my issues, like anxiety, stress, and a myriad of odd health issues, my partner has many of his own. He experiences depression, severe anxiety (far, far worse than mine), and occasional agoraphobia. Does this make life harder? Yes. But it doesn’t change that these aspects of him are part of the whole person whom I love very deeply.

I guess I want to tell this story from his side, the side of the person in the relationship who struggles more. Because I have found that I respect that position very much. To be able to fully accept that you have serious life-effecting issues takes a lot of strength. To be in a relationship is both wonderful and terrifying. On the one hand, you have support. On the other, there’s someone extremely close to you that makes you see how far from “normal” you are (even though “normal” doesn’t really exist). So yes, I believe my partners position is harder than mine. I think that, from the outside, most poeple assume that I’m in the hard spot. But I see him question all the time if he has a right to be with me.

These are the hard questions. These challenging relationships are what make me write. They are what I want to explore. They are the why.

And the answer is yes. He has every right to be with me. Because he is just as whole a human, just as valuable, just as loving, just as creative. He’s just a different human, valuable in different ways, loving in different ways, and creative in different ways. And that’s why I love him. His perspective makes me think. He pushes me to question more. He pushes me to challenge myself. He pushes me to write. He pushes me to love. He pushes me to be uncomfortable.