The Hem

I glanced down at my arms; the three slashes seeped blood. The large amount of aspirin I consumed thinned and accelerated its departure. I wanted to escape and run. Another locked psychiatric ward would be my fate. Only my physical screams could be heard, but these lashes were the deep wails of my internal world.…

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Foodie

I am a foodie—and, I’m very ambivalent about that. I both love and excoriate myself for that. My food war is facilitated by my having dissociative identity disorder (DID). If you’re unfamiliar, DID is a survival mechanism of the mind in the face of great trauma. Imagine, if you will, the natural conflicting opinions of…

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Time Served

He died without ever paying his debt. Others in our family speak fondly of him even naming their children after him. I have a totally different memory of the man. I was always afraid of him. He was a big, gruff, crude, loud bully who shoved his weight around in every environment he was ever…

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Individuation

I keep returning to the girl in the grave. Gray and without breath. With armor to protect her heart and masks to wear for any occasion. She knows the intrinsic ways of each role she is expected to play. I resurrect her when I fear love. She knows how to get through this life.

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How Could He Just Leave Us Like That?

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” Isaiah 43:2 (NIV) Let’s imagine a few scenarios: Chrissy’s husband left her, with…

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This is my body…

These words sound otherworldly, carrying the sense of the sacred. Many of us were raised in traditions which include the eucharist, or communion.  Some folks enter that space every month, some every week.  For some, it is a shared table, some approach one by one, some wait for a plate to be passed,  others wait…

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The Leaves of Lórien

Our histories leave trails behind us Whether we remember, or not Clues, leaves of Lórien let fall By our younger selves In hopes We might come back someday To rescue the little child within In hopes We might remember To find healing In hopes That we might forgive The child within And finally remember Who…

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Broken Heart Healing

My five-year-old fingers pulled the red crayon from the box. I placed it in the middle of the paper, made a curving line upward and around to a diagonal line downward. I came back to the dot in the center and made a symmetrical figure, a picture of a perfect heart. My heart was created…

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The Wounded Warrior

Write, she says, you have to keep writing. To write is to go to war. Go to war with who I am and who I was and who I’m supposed to be. But who am I supposed to be? Am I supposed to be anyone or am I supposed to be me? In a resistance…

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Distorted

My name is Holly, I am an addict. It does not really matter what my addiction is. What matters is my addiction was what I chose to fill the God shaped hole in my life.  My addiction kidnapped my heart, my soul and my mind. But God. God ransomed me.  I used my addiction to…

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