Walking Wounded

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Memory of my big sister Midge

Another memory of the safety of my sister’s shelter was around the time I must have been 8 ish. It is in her living room. Her daughter an infant was in an old wind up swing. The hand crank made a fascinating sound. I was a kid being a kid. Midge had given me a snack on a small plate. The baby in the the swing that was on the floor in front of the T.V. and I were watching Sesame Street. It was a humble place of a rental (?) or a small house. It was in Ogden I think seemed like it was more in town. It was nice there and she was so kind to me and gentle.

So vaguely it was as if the times with her ended like my/our mom and her got into a dispute or something. Perhaps her husband was transferred or got a job away from there and they left.
Her husband followed the breeze it seemed always nomadic. That is the sense of it anyway.

Love you
Aunt Donetta

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Attention Memoir and Narrative Non-Fiction Writers

My Entry 200 words

Knocking he stood, knocking at the door. It impressing me now how many years ago the impact my sister had on me. Standing there in the sun with a post card in my hand. Not that it came by mail but from her somehow on that visit so long ago. Her Husband a carpenter was simple in wisdom the very best kind. Even little as I was he placed his hammer in my hand. The nails were strong thick and long. Two by four “Now hammer it” he said. He freed me from within. Trusting me to hold tight as I threw that hatred down. Blow after blow. Even back then I wonder if he knew the hurt and the heart ache I let go on those capable nails. Not one bent if I recall as my sister there leaning at the door frame smiled knowingly at him.
That is some of the very first things that I recall staying there in that home freed for a few days from my own. My sister eighteen years my senior. Her husband felt as if he were almost her father. A wise old sage. An American Indian with a strong frame.
 to Literary Agents


Win a free critique of the first 25 pages of your memoir or work of Narrative non-fiction. 

VISIT: Guide to Literary Agents Blog spot. www.guidetoliteraryagents.com/blog/

CONTEST CLOSES: Jan 31st 2010

HOW TO SUBMIT: (copied from Literary Agents Blog)

You can leave your entry in the Comments section of the post on 'guide to literary agents' blog, or just e-mail it. Send e-mailed entries to januaryagentcontest@gmail.com. (If using e-mail, paste everything. No attachments.)


The first 200 words of your unpublished, book-length work of memoir, femoir or narrative nonfiction (also called creative nonfiction). You must include a contact e-mail address with your entry and use your real name. Though not mandatory, feel free to submit the title of the work and a logline (one-sentence description of the work) with your entry.

Please note: To be eligible to submit, you have to do one of two things: 1) Mention and link to this contest twice through any social media - blogs, Twitter, Facebook, forums, message boards, comments on other blog sites; or 2) just mention this contest once and also add Guide to Literary Agents Blog (www.guidetoliteraryagents.com/blog) to your blogroll. Please provide link(s). 


First place: 1) A critique of 25 pages of your work, by your agent judge. 2) Two free books from Writer's Digest Books (I will give you several choices and you pick the books your want).

Runner-ups - second and third place: 1) A critique of 10 pages of your work, by your agent judge. 2) One free book from Writer's Digest Books (I will give you several choices and you pick the book your want).

WHAT ABOUT YOU? Know of any contests around that you want to shout out in the comments section? Please do :)

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

EMDR and the remainder of a day.

Dealing with memory is a hard thing.
This day I dealt with a process to help that memory to go from one part of my brain to another.
It is a process for folks with PTSD that is finding great success.

I did work on an event that took place when I was 4 yrs old. This was not the first time I have received therapy regarding this event. This was different. I did  not go there I just saw it like a movie. A horrible horrible movie. Meanwhile the therapy works a technique that transfers the data into the long term part of the brain taking it out of the frontal lobe. Now many years folk have said "let the pass go".
Folks with PTSD would love nothing more than for it to "GO"
We try all sorts of trick. It is stuck however and it is not a matter of intellectually letting it go. Trust me it would all be gone if it were.
Body memories are a terrible thing cellular we hold within our beings instances in time that are locked into existence. Like when you smell a flower that is familiar and your mind goes to the time when a beloved gave you a bouquet of them.
I wish the flowers of life past were so pleasant but alas they are not. they are so not...
I am up this night at 2 a.m. I had a wonderful day today despite the fact that my sister died last week. She was the one who had the courage and was getting the help at the time and came forward to confirm my childhood. She was 18 years my elder.I have peace at her passing for there was nothing let undone between us.

I have locked into a little metal lock box rusted from being berried under grown all of the work that I did today. Waiting to think on or focus the thoughts of the filled in recall until the next time. I have to work on this even every few moments. Gaps were filled in today gaps that I never told a soul. Gaps that I locked up into the very heart of a child soul killed.
I was profoundly moved by the way I as a child responded to myself. With self hate and blame despising me.

It was surreal that as I walked out of the bathroom at the clinic that a 4 year old child sat there by the door. I have NEVER seen a child there. One time Dove had to sit in the tiny lobby and wait for me attended. That was the only time I knew or saw a kid there. I was touched by what the little girl looked like she was so sweet and beautiful, her hair combed and nice clothing on her. I thought this is not a coincidence that a 4 year old is sitting right there as I walked out to the lobby. After session I went into that tiny bathroom and sobbed. I sobbed. I breathed deeply and got some composure. Walked out of that bathroom and right there was an example of what it looked like to be a 4 year old girl child. my heart was so swollen with so many feelings horror dismay she was so sweet sitting there with so much promise and innocence. Mine was robbed me.

I am up tonight trying to keep all of that in that little metal box locked up until next time. Trusting that eventually with the EMDR that it will become less and less raw. Trying to ignore and pass through the physical pains this morning of body memory. Trying not to throw up. Trying not to react and remember that "it is no wonder". That I am alright this is just a phase of recovery to walk through.

Had it not been for all the work over the years I would of never been able to be at this place. The tools and knowledge I have gained and practiced over these long years set me to be able to do this work. It will be long and tedious work.

I had the strangest thing however today. A friend had watched the kids for me after school. When I went to get them home I was still spinning. I had talked my way home literally. Turn here, OK your alright , keep those things in the box. I had JOY this afternoon evening. I brought the kids home fixed a meal for each and had joy! joy! I has been a while. My husband went to a new men.s group tonight he adventured out to see about relating to others. That was huge for him. He was taking care of his heart. I was over joyed to support him in that I knew I could care for me. I realized a bit today how amazing I am at taking care of myself.
I made it through so many terrible horrific events and am here and not dead at my own hand or another.

I parented so lovingly. Helped my children peaceful complete homework, had wonderful exchanges with them. Tending the bed time ritual. Ready them a story and then some praise poetry. Poetry I read my kids poetry. I tried to lay beside my special needs child to help her to sleep in her own bed. It is a transition for her. At 1 a.m. I had her come back to sleep on her palat. My back was just in too much pain. I had taken pain meds before I laid down but by then they wore off. I took some more before this post. Soon I trust it will take the edge off my physical pain.
Keeping those things locked away is helping the pain in my heart stay at bay but I am so astounded at the data of the work I did today. Gaps that were filled in that I always get left out, the second by second of the event. This day has left me profoundly compassionate toward myself. It has also given me a great respect for who I am. I am really amazing. The things I lived through. The faith that I can hold in a God that many resent for the abuse they suffered at mans/woman's hands.
To be able to go through that and to go to God with and for that very comfort that no one else can give me right now. With everything in the box. Letting this woman child live by choice with it locked away. Exercising the act of keeping it there until next visit. We who survived and go one to learn to thrive are a truly amazing people.

I started a new medication in addition to the anti depressant that targets cognitive, I began a preventative medication for the anxiety. It is really helping with the flooding of the cortisol from the stress disorder. I feel so much better and more even. Stress of day in day out is lessened so much because I am able to more congruently manage it. So much less reaction to it now that I really feel better about myself all around. My parenting has improved so much I am so much calmer with my kids.

Songs of my heart