My childhood trauma sometimes triggers a cycle of events that leave me in a no-man’s-land of helplessness.
Depression kicks me in the nuts on a regular basis. After my revelation yesterday, I think my brain decided to get back at me. I had nightmares regarding my mother’s ex-husband, my family’s number one abuser, Dirk. I dreamt of endless arguments. I begged, pleaded, raged, and prayed that he would understand. My mother wasn’t
Fourteen years ago, I formed my most vivid holiday memory to date. July 4, 2001 is a day I will not be forgetting. Dirk, the true genius of DIY plumbing, made our family an arsenal of firework-powered weapons. Most notably, he made a series of steel pipe “guns” which shot bottle rockets. As you can imagine,
I was thinking about my old house again (go figure), and I remember a nasty old well we had. Our water source had been converted over to County utilities years before we came to squat in my childhood home in Arkansas. Long before the fire got the property, the ice wreaked its havoc as well.
Dude. This snow bullshit has got to stop. I don’t like ice, Sam-I-Am. Too many bad memories. When I was a teenager, I had to take an electric chainsaw, with a 120 ft. extension cord, out into the snow, and cut logs down for fuel. Every couple of winters, my parents might buy a rick
First of all, I want to say “afraid” is a strong term for this topic. I want people to be aware of what actually happens in the world. Secondly, this is a graphic post. Language and content are adult here, not for kids. You may even hate me a little afterwards. You have been warned.
First of all, I’m doing NaNoWriMo this year. For the month of November, I’ll be working on my novel a LOT. This may mean my posts here are a little spare sometimes, but I promise I will still make this blog a priority. Secondly, I hate my brain. This morning I had nightmares about me