Posts about, among other things, mental illness, mental health, and recovery.
I’m not sure I have a favourite colour, though I always choose green when it comes to game pieces and everyone knows that. My affection for green was born at the house on Valemont. My bedroom there had green carpet. My bedroom there remains the best room I’ve ever had. My mother put wallpaper up that looked like bamboo, with vines and yellow flowers twining … Continue reading I’m blue.
I don’t remember that many happy times. I know they exist. There’s one of me riding a bike I come back to regularly. Much of my past is blurry, however. I have flashes and snatches, but my memory isn’t great when it comes to the day-to-day. I blame the unholy trifecta of trauma, PTSD, and age. Worst band name ever. I drifted into a relationship … Continue reading The happiest day ever was a Saturday in December.
Once upon a time, I was pathologically afraid of spiders. When I was a child, I screamed for my father, paralyzed, whenever I encountered one. Size was irrelevant. Interestingly, I wasn’t paralyzed if he wasn’t home, nor did I call for my mother – she was terrified too. On those occasions, I fled. My father picks spiders up with his bare hands. He’d laugh at … Continue reading Spiders and me.
Sunday school is a long time ago, but some things stick with you. Music especially welds itself into my brain, never to be released. This was a good thing when I was performing in various choirs, but annoying when I make myself porridge and the Quaker Oats “we’re going to make a hot cereal lover out of you” ditty starts playing in my brain. Music … Continue reading I’ve got that joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart.
From Famine to Feast 