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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

depression

Epic Summer Issue of Sheila – Na – Gig

I am thrilled to have 2 of my poems in the Epic Summer Issue of Sheila -Na – Gig.  My huge thanks go out to Editor Hayley Haugen!

This is a huge an amazing issue with so many wonderful poets and poems.  There are also a ton of submission opportunities at SNG that all poets should check out!!!!

Eating Barbequed Iguana

I fell a few weeks ago, on the sidewalk, while gawking at another new group of hideous town houses that are being built in our neighborhood.  When I fell, I cried, not because it hurt, but because I felt humiliated, broken, slapped in the face yet again by RP.  My depression and self loathing voices took center stage and told me I was useless and really shouldn’t even be outside if I can’t manage to walk a block without falling down and scraping my knees.  I wanted to hide, from the RP and the day and the world.  I wanted to hide from myself, pretend I was graceful, dream I could float.  My sadness turned to anger and I stumbled home, terrified that every step may be the one to send me back into the unwelcome embrace of the pavement. Until very recently, this had been my usual response to falling.
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Hiking Blind

A friend recently asked me how I manage hiking with limited vision.  I have actually been thinking about writing a post about this since I started hiking again. I thought it might be something other people wondered about as well.  How the hell can a blind woman go hiking?  You have to remember, I am blind but I can see.  It is probably less confusing if I refer to myself as VI (visually impaired), but I am legally blind.
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How Do I Get Out Of Here

I didn’t start this month thinking I would be writing about mental illness, but I have been so encouraged by the bravery of other writers sharing their experiences, I feel the need to share my own, with the hope that it may help someone, somehow.  My experiences are not unique, but that is the point; there are so many of us out there who suffer from depression and anxiety, and we should not feel ashamed.
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The Choice to Climb

I am feeling compelled to continue writing about living with depression and all the layers that come with it.  I think it can be confusing, but needs to be talked about so the stigma of it gets eradicated and it can be treated just like any other illness that a person is saddled with.
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Let’s Talk About the D Word

I recently read two blog posts about depression, from Wil Wheaton and HLFHM.  Both are brave and honest accounts of what it is like to live with depression, and both are written openly and without shame, in the hope to help others understand and feel that depression is nothing to be ashamed of.  These posts made me want to make an attempt at throwing my dilapidated hat into the downward spiral. Hopefully, the more of us who talk and write openly about living with mental illness, the more it will come out from underneath its blanket of shame.
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By Your Side

I have been in a bleak place lately.  It is a familiar place, a place of introspection where I can try to figure out what is bringing on the sadness.  I thought it was because of the shit storm of rejections I have been getting, but they were just the cap on feelings that were already dragging me under.  I have been feeling overwhelmed for so long.

After coming to the conclusion that it isn’t the rejections that are pulling me into the clutches of sorrow, I had to stop and breathe and look behind my eyes to see what has been troubling me.  This can, at times, be a herculean task, as I seem to be troubled far too often, and it is never just one thing. But, I have become good at peeling away the layers, seeing what lurks beneath.
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Tangled up in Despair

When the darkness approaches, I turn to face it.  I allow it to seep into my skin, to fill my mouth and steal the breath from my tongue.  It is the only way out.

I am in it now.  I thought I was creeping out, back into the center of something more solid, but I got slammed back down and all I want is to lie here and not have to be me anymore.  I long to disintegrate into ashes and rise again with new eyes and less weight on my heart.  In reverie, I was born to be a phoenix, but under the spikes of the day, I am a freak who burrows into the minutia of emptiness and tries to escape her skin. I am tangled in familiar threads of despair.  For the moment, it is safe here.

A Guest in Someone Else’s Home

When I discovered Steve’s blog, MSich Chronicles, I was an instant fan, of Steve and of his writing.  So, you can imagine how thrilled I was when Steve asked if I would write a guest post for his blog.  This is my first foray into guest posting and it is a real honor to be asked to be a guest writer in another’s virtual writing home. Thank you Steve for putting your trust in me.

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