Have you ever been able to write a post without feeling like you're in your skivvies teetering on a rock ledge, rope in hand, about to fling yourself out over the water and let go?
Halloween almost escaped me this year. How did it go at your house? A 20% off coupon texted to my cellphone that day got me moving. In five hours I cleaned the gutters, cleared the leaves off the driveway, and decked out the entryway with spiders, skeletons, spider webs, torches, and glowing orb. Door bell rang maybe a dozen times, with groups of two to six. Only once did I scream. Trump does that to me.
I've linked this blog to my real name, finally, in one tiny Facebook 'closed' group. Now that I know I am not the curse I thought I was, I hope someone may relate to my story of extreme childhood emotional neglect, and believe they're not cursed by it forever, either.
Speaking of getting real, I actually confided in someone I know this week that I'm in counselling, recovering from developmental PTSD. I stop at the Diner on my way and she owns the place.
"Terrific! My God!" she said. "Do you know how many of us have trauma in our lives? I'm writing a book, so people can see behind the person they think they know when they see me."
Not an easy life she's had, immigrating from Kosovo nearly thirty years ago.
We agreed, our public persona and private self can be a real disconnect.
I don't want that disconnect any more. I am what I am.
The other big news is that yesterday my big sister defied every piece of advice our dead momma uttered. She chalked her sentiments on a brick wall outside Wrigley Field. Posted her graffitti on Facebook, too. I am so proud of that woman. For eight years now, she's worked that hallowed ground as a Cubs usher. Every year - love with heartbreak. Wow. They really did the city of Chicago proud this year. Congratulations!
If you have come to my blog for the first time, feel free to nose around. Rest assured, I publish each post with a prayer...."Please God, let there be comments!"