Writers


A chalkboard.

A chalkboard. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have been writing for a month today, and have discovered that it is a wonderful way to release stress, to be able to voice through words, what I have felt and never been able to say. As time goes by, and I have retained more and more followers, it hit me today, that although there are many topics, titles, different lengths in our stories, we all are human and we all want the same thing. It doesn’t matter if you have been following me from the beginning, or you started following me yesterday, our words still express the same thing. A yearning to be accepted and loved. We come in to this world from dust. The first person our eyes meet are the ones who love us and will stick by our side for ever, right? Or wrong. Some of never make it to that home we were meant to go, for one reason or other. Some of us don’t make it to see the world as a child will see it. Some of us always have the same parents through out our lives, some have one, or maybe multiple parents. We learn in school we get rewards. A gold star, our name chalked on the black board. A monetary reward for good grades, maybe a restaurant of our choice for work well done. Elementary days are the greatest. Life is exciting, we make new friends, we discover new things our parents never taught us. Then there is a bridge you cross over. Called Middle school/high school. For some of us, that is a very difficult bridge to cross successfully. Classes become harder, more home work is put upon us. Puberty is in full swing. Our hearts begin to feel feelings we have never experienced and our bodies become unglued.  Friendships change, leaving us to ponder on what is wrong with us. What did we do or say wrong. Individuality starts to play a major role in our lives. Somewhere,somehow, no matter how many parents you had. or where you were lived, or how you were brought up, for a brief moment in time, or for some much longer, we yearn for what we once had. That gold star, that feeling of being loved. The need to feel accepted. Our worlds become shaken. Some folks turn to drugs, some to alcohol, some to shrinks, some to early death, and then there are us, the writers. We are able to take all that has happened in our lives. Our needs, desires, our wants, and we have been able to successfully put these in words. We have become loved, and needed by each other, and we get that gold star through acknowledgement of our postings. I am more proud of me today than I have ever been. Expressing myself and having a group of followers is all I needed to feel complete. Someone understands me. They have felt my pain, or happiness, or confusion. Thank you fellow writers, for being in my life. You may not know me personally, but you understand me, and accept me for who I have become today.


for the kids in your own family, these are my memories as a child

Who I am

Wearing my little, white bonnet with the big bow on top, held under my chin with a white piece of elastic. The frilliest dress you have ever seen. White, lacy anklets, with new, black patent leather shoes with gold buckles. White cotton gloves. Black suit,white shirt, with black, clip on tie. Shiny new black shoes.This was the picture of my brother and me on Easter Day, April 1964. After going to sunrise service, followed by breakfast, you could find the two of us nearly asleep during the main service. Leaving  the services with a little cut out milk carton, with a paper handle, green grass holding little speckled eggs, colorful jelly beans and a chocolate Easter bunny. We could hardly hold our fingers back from trying a piece. Mom said we had to wait until after lunch. We weren’t to spoil our meal with sugary treats. We pulled in the…

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Easter is tomorrow, and because I know, without a doubt, that God heals everything, I wanted to reblog this story, the hardest story of my life to tell to the world.

Who I am

Very little sleep last night. Restless, stomach ache, acid reflex. Nerves were a mess from the prior night. Five am, I was still tossing and turning. Rolling from side to side, trying to get comfortable. Finally got up and used the ladies room. Back in my warm bed, I took two acid relievers. I think around five thirty, I finally fell asleep. I was woken up at eight forty-five am with someone letting me know he was up and ready for medications. Good going there sis. I had over slept! At least, he didn’t try finding the hidden medications and taking  them himself. I must be up, no matter how I slept. Today is shower day, and the caregiver was here. We spent a lot of time talking to him after his shower. My heart had the biggest ache in it and my stomach had this huge knot. We were…

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Fight or Flight


Panic attack

Panic attack (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

She sat hidden in her home, afraid to even peek out the window. Her palms were sweaty, and her breathing was rapid. Her life consisted of being part owner of an antique store and  caring for her dog and two cats. Inside, her four walls, life seemed pretty normal, but if someone came to the door,or she was in the public eye, you could observe her body gently quivering, a paleness white washing through out  her face. Her eyes would become large with fear. Once she was at work, and her partner she worked with had an appointment that  morning, and wouldn’t be in for about two hours. The building they rented became silent. She could hear the creaks coming through the walls. The floors crackled as she walked from room to room, straightening items on tables and shelves. A customer came in. She glued on her nicest smile, and welcomed them to their antique store. After a nice sale, she could feel her heart starting to race a little bit. She immediately told herself to stop it. This is ridiculous. She was at work and she wasn’t going to deal with this. Go away! As she went about her morning  checking on her inventory, she could feel her fingers start to shake and the back of her hair was beginning to cling to her neck. She walked into the bathroom, and took a couple of paper towels and wet them in cold water. She wiped her forehead off, and the back of her neck. She sat on the stool, with her head bent between her legs, trying to get the dizziness to stop. The doctors had told her before that the only thing that was going on with her was inside her head. She was becoming an emotional mess.That if she didn’t get control of this she would end up in some loony farm. The doctors had offered her  nerve medicine, but she refused to fill the scripts, knowing that wasn’t her problem. Another doctor had told her she was having panic attacks, and that she would feel this way, but to just let herself feel each thing that was happening, and she would realize after wards she wasn’t going to die. After feeling like she was going to pass out, and feeling the trembling going on all over her body, it did stop. Her heart started to slow down. She got up from the stool, and forced herself to open the back door and walk outside into the bright summer day. She inhaled the fresh air and forced a smile  back on her face. In about ten minutes, she was back to her normal self. It had worked! She had honed in on the reactions her body was going through, and realized she was not going to die. She fought it! She made it! She still had the panic attacks happen, but each time they did, she would practice repeatedly staying in touch with what has happening inside. Eventually, the panic attacks would only visit if she was extremely tired. She would take control, and often times take a nap, waking, feeling refreshed and able to go on with her day.