I feel like the entire world, and the varying pockets (countries, states, cities, communities, families, ourselves) within it, is in a state of chaos and uncertainty. And I don’t know about you, but… it’s feckin exhausting and I really need a nap.

But honestly?! I’ve felt this way most of my life… [DISCLAIMER: talks of abuse contained further in]

I was born of very humble beginnings near the tiny town of Moab, Utah in May of 1982. The few, earliest memories I have of living there are enjoyable ones, with the exception of the time my parents were repairing the dirt road that led to our home on the mesa and my brother plummeted over the side into a ravine. In recounting this memory with my Mom recently, she said that “ravine” was maybe 10-12 feet down and laughed a bit at how my perception was that it was some vast, deep, and dangerous crevasse with which a harrowing rescue was done. His super insulated coat and some scrubby bushes saved his life and he was carried away with barely a scratch. Fun times!

When I was about 4 or so, we moved to Seattle, WA to be near my paternal grandparents. Again, I have mostly fond memories of that time. I gained my abject fear of heights there, though, when my brother and I were visiting a neighbor friend’s unfinished treehouse. One story above the ground, we sat on the “porch” area and goofed around. My brother took a swing at me and when I went to put my hand behind me to brace myself… there was nothing there. I fell off, landing on a large, flat rock that completely knocked the wind out of me. I remember struggling hard to breathe and panicking because I couldn’t. Whatever happened to kick my lungs into gear, I’m grateful. But I immediately started bawling and ran home. And, for what it’s worth, I have another (pretty shitty) memory, but I’m going to save that one for later… it was actually deeply repressed until maybe a decade ago.

Around 1990, we picked up and followed the paternal grandparents to Arkansas. I often refer to this as the time my life became a living Hell, because EVERYTHING changed after that. It was a decent beginning, other than failing every class in 3rd grade except Spelling (I was passed anyway. I think the teacher knew the move was hard on me). I continued to reside in Arkansas for most of my life, outside of a couple solid attempts to escape (once for college, once following a boyfriend). Sadly, life had a funny way of sucking me all the way back to my parents’ house, over and over.

But I digress… “Arkansas” (Hell) quite swiftly and concisely obliterated the “daddy’s girl” part of me. For reasons I didn’t know back then, my “father” (real paternity, undeserved title) had changed into a complete and utter monster. I suppose by that time, my brother and I were “old enough” to receive “discipline” in ways that weren’t used before. And I quote these things because I know NOW that the “discipline” we got wasn’t discipline at all, but horrid acts of verbal, emotional, and physical abuse that NO child should ever have to endure. I can only be grateful that sexual abuse wasn’t part of that. I learned a hard lesson around the tender age of 9, when I exhibited physically abusive tendencies towards my beloved cat. That experience snapped me into reality and not only did I bawl my eyes out and attempt to soothe my cat (he wanted none of that, obviously), I made a solemn vow that I wanted to be NOTHING like him. I would never again take my anger out on another being, physically or verbally. He became the shining example of who not to be, and I would hold that up repeatedly throughout my life.

I’m going to do a fast-forward, because I have therapy soon and I’m running out of time to get ready xD

Now, at 42 years of age, I am living in Colorado with my boyfriend and our 4 cats. I’ve completely escaped the clutches of The Plague (my “father’s” nickname) and gone No Contact. My mother, after 45 shitty years of marriage, has also escaped here to Colorado and lives with her sister. With everything I’ve been through, all the trauma and abuse, I am a broken woman. I have chronic physical problems and a whole host of mental health issues/diagnoses, but… therapy is helping. It HAS helped in the past and I have access to even more varieties of therapy now that I’m in a good state. Arkansas sucks in many regards to Healthcare. I knew that when I lived there, but living here in Colorado just drives that home even harder.

Point being… I will never NOT recommend that anyone and everyone utilize the benefits of therapy. We are all fucked up in ways we sometimes don’t even have the capacity to realize until we DO go to therapy. And, if you truly believe that you’re perfect or don’t need it… well, you might want to reconsider. Those types are the ones like The Plague, and I don’t think anyone with a shred of empathy would ever want to be like him.

Much love to you all, see you again soon!