Decided the full arsenal was required. Witchcraft. A black magick banishment spell. I would protect my land and bodily autotomy. Even if that meant I made an unholy deal with the Gods, Goddesses and ghosts. I would be as scorched earth forever alone if that would permit me to me survive. When I turned 40 I resolved to be a celibate recluse to preserve sobriety and avoid further rape. Sacrifice was familiar company. I had to salt the earth so no weeds could grow.Read More
When I was nineteen, a therapist told me she thought I had post-traumatic stress disorder.
"Like a soldier?" I asked, halfway laughing.
She pointed out that I was extremely anxious in our meetings, that I couldn’t sit still, but bit my nails to the quick and glanced around the room and at the closed door. I couldn’t sit with my back to an open window, and I talked as if I had to get the words out quickly, quietly, before someone else heard. That I often looked as if my heart was beating too fast. (It often was.) Hypervigilance, she said.Read More
This "return of the repressed" continues, as Deanie self-destructs in more and more glamorous ways, eventually wading into a pond decked out in a gorgeous red flapper dress and swimming towards the edge of a waterfall.Read More
In my mid-30s, my initial confidence level with attractive men didn’t match my perception of enduring relationship success; I felt doomed to fail on a protracted timeline. In this instance, and others, I chose to pursue someone based on the short-term nature of the possibilities. I knew I had Jack that first night. Boys like me; that doesn’t mean they stick around, so I was now choosing men who wouldn’t.Read More