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Stories From the Edge of Blindness

In 2002, Retinitis Pigmentosa changed my life. This is my story of a slow approach to darkness.

Category

Blindness

Do a Little Dance

My Mom was a colourful and effervescent person. She shined more brightly than anyone I have ever known and expressed unapologetic interest in things that propelled her down less travelled paths. She was in a coven, painted banners for the... Continue Reading →

Wish

2 years and 2 days ago, my first book, "Things My Mother Left Behind", published by the incredible Potter's Grove Press, was released into the world. I was, have been, and continue to be, both grateful for the support and... Continue Reading →

Waking from a Dream

I have wanted to write, truly, but my groove is buried somewhere between Los Angeles and Ireland and that is a lot of fucking space to cover. I have four projects in stasis, sitting in folders that mock me every... Continue Reading →

With a Little Help from Welbutrin

My head is above water, but I am not floating. The air still tastes of ash, the remnants of a battle lingering in my eyes and in my throat. Depression is the zip tie on my tongue, the shackle on... Continue Reading →

Taking up Space

I woke up yesterday feeling a bit better, thinking this bout of depression had plans for a short stay.  I was a fool.  By the afternoon, I wanted to break something.  I wanted to scream and slice myself free of my skin.  I wanted... Continue Reading →

Storm

There is a storm in my head, a rage that chokes me, imminent disaster that pricks the tip of my tongue. My skin is so heavy, scratchy like a blanket in the heat, filthy with the detritus of hiding inside... Continue Reading →

Shades of Bleak

The darkness is swallowing me up again. I exist in a confined space, one part sadness, the other anger; sometimes the two become indistinguishable. I am a flame of rage in a freezing wind, burning and extinguished. I am a... Continue Reading →

Horizon

Some days I wander around my house, feeling lost and disconnected, no grip on the texture of the morning or the space around me. I write about having forgotten who I am, but the truth is that I have never... Continue Reading →

Hope

Ever since my RP diagnosis, I have shied away from hope. Not a coquettish kind of shy, but a hand in the face, get the hell away from me kind of shy. I didn't see the point of getting into... Continue Reading →

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