It's not as if there are no stories that could be told. Most of the time one or the other is being advanced, but where would you start, with facts or motives? And even having made that choice would not settle very much because so many different ways of taking up the threads would still remain to be chosen. Write as if you are penning a letter to a friend? Or imagine some situation where the opportunity existed to unburden yourself? Perhaps you don't know how much of a burden you are carrying until you start to release it. That would be to find what it is that needs to be said of its own accord. The storied life that you simply live not in addition to or beside anything else. You think that you are simply refraining from a banal endeavour until you try, and then the first thing you find is the story of the refraining, the unthought in the form of all your thoughts is simply what you refuse to put into words, and what leaks out with a vengeance in dreams. The truest stories are broken, your appetite for these fragments, even your own, is insatiable.