|Wordy, wannabe nerdy, mama & g'ma blogging about my journey of health, healing, and life at Human In Recovery on Wordpress.|
Beware of the scammers.
Lately, it seems I've been receiving private letters from men whose words are of a similar pattern that I witnessed and experienced when I was on a discount dating site.
They are generally attractive men, based on their profile pictures. They may indicate a white collar profession in those pictures. Their fridges are bare or contain words not their own, but not accredited.
They start off innocuous and pleasant, but very soon want to shift conversation to Hangouts, Kik, or What's App. They may claim to be from your country, but living elsewhere, for now, for employment reasons.
Quite a few may indicate they're in some branch of the military.
Because I recognize the ...
I’m afraid you might not like me, when you meet me, she texted him. Three dots appeared on her screen, indicating he was typing. But, then they suddenly disappeared.
“Well, that’s that, I guess.” She sighed fatalistically and reflected, I’m not any good at this whole dating game thing. It’s been so long since I’ve been on the market.
Gah! “On the market.” What a horrible idiom. I’m not for sale . . . except maybe I am marketing myself as “damaged goods” when I tell men what I told him. WHY did I say that to him?
“Well. I don’t want to be accused of false advertising . . .”
There it was again, this language of sales, as if I’m a consumable commodity. Where on earth was this idea that wome...
In the land of the free
And the home of the brave,
Fear and greed
Create the mind slave.
In what was believed
A land of abundance,
Writhes hate unrelieved
And lost moral compass.
Not the lost you may think,
Facade’s fake appearance;
Words and deed don’t sync,
A legal crime
Time after time
Right is illegal.
Wrong wears the crown.
No longer an eagle.
Now an orange clown,
Playing the people
With words of false faith.
We’re called sheeple
Considered weak wraith.
We must together,
Stop vanity’s fight
From God’s aether
Let truth take flight.
Let compassion rule.
Let empathy drive.
Make justice true.
The spirit will thrive.
We had a good thing going. But you couldn't keep your promise and it
destroyed what we had" she cried. He looked at her and..... "
shook his head dismay. This wasn’t ever his intention. They’d worked so hard to get this project up and going. She had worked day and night, for months on end. She was the one with the creativity, drive, and passion to make her dream a reality. As her brother, he’d felt it his duty to be the soldier on the ground supporting her efforts and doing the grunt work . . . the day to day chores, errands, and minutiae that was more than one person could handle on their own. It had been his job to meet the building inspector to get the final sign off for the grand openi...
Weekly Challenge 3
Beginning, Thoughts, Pocket
In the beginning, all that existed was a deep pocket of nothingness. Out of this void, the thoughts of creation emerged, becoming words calling forth the fullness of light and life through the breath of the living God who encompassed the nothingness, transforming it into something beloved.
Winter came faster than expected. She wasn’t prepared. She shivered, uncontrollably, as she walked past…
…the other people on the sidewalk, most of whom were walking rapidly against the freezing rain and buffeting wind. None spared a glance for the the woman obviously lacking the minimal resources to weather the rapidly approaching storm.
She frantically looked for a doorway deep enough to shelter her from the worst of the onslaught.
She caught his eye from across the street. He didn’t want to see her. There were so many like her. People living on the street. People without shelter. People without homes. People living in crowded isolation.
What could he do against such injustice? How cou...
Weekly Challenge 1
Her wild, jealous heart
Caught by mesmerizing thoughts
Sheds crystal green tears
Happiness is as Happiness does: Musings from a Bipolar Brain
Happy is a feeling and feelings are fleeting. Happiness is a state of being and takes work.
The experience of Happiness is more challenging for some more than others and may seem impossible to achieve.
That’s because Happiness isn’t a goal or destination, but a byproduct, a side effect of the combination of our genetics, circumstances, beliefs, attitudes, and actions.
For many of us coming from lives filled with trauma and/or mental illness it will look different than it does for neurotypical people. We have to work through the trauma and confront ourselves to heal and grow. These are our prerequisites to Happiness.
There is ...
Tiny fingers pinching
Little feet climbing
Small hands clapping
Mini legs jumping
“I love you, my grandson”
“Ah luh ooh” in return
“Can I get a hug, my granddaughter?”
Followed by a bear hug of minute proportions.
“Kisses, littlelest one?”
She leans her forehead close
For want of a better life,
With less struggle and strife
I’m on a journey rife
With valleys and hills
For want of a better day
Present I work to stay
Needing courage I pray
That faith my soul fills
For want of a better me
That loved ones can see
Who I’m meant to be
As Divine love wills
WOW ~ Dangerous
The task, onerous,
Full of painfulness,
Bred thoughts, slanderous,
Leading to actions, traitorous,
Making her so very dangerous.
Rising above her circumstance,
She became victorious
Restless, stormy soul
Spirit of madness
He ran for the bus and barely made it. When he sat down and looked around, his eyes met hers. She smiled, mischief twinkling in her eyes. “Hey, mister! XYZ,” she advised, looking pointedly at his lap.
Her mother, who’d been thoroughly engaged with the screen of her smart phone, looked up, eyes wild with mortification. She quickly placed her arm around the little girl’s shoulders, loudly whispering, “ Hush! Don’t be rude.” She paused and glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, noting his male beauty and embarrassment. “And, DON’T talk to strangers,” she admonished her child.
During this exchange, he glanced down, believing the zipper of his fly had slid down, ...
Outside of Time
Standing outside of time, I watch the world go by. Witnessing it all like a stop motion slideshow. I can see the storms coming and step into my little time bubble. I can be in the storm, see it’s awesome power, but never experiencing the sensations of urgency or danger, but, neither am I able to experience the feelings of relief and joy at having survived the storm and being reunited with loved ones.
Standing outside of time happens already, for many trauma survivors. It’s the dissociative state we’ve learned as a form of self-protection. It leaves us behind in our minds and emotions. It muffles the sound and fury of the storm. Yet, it also deafens us to the the song of reb...
Word of the week:
Being bipolar, depressed, and anxious, means feeling insane, sometimes acting the same. The thing is, you’re not crazy or lazy, you’re amazing!
You are neurodiverse, your brain is structured differently. You think differently, experience the world differently, and process those experiences differently. Your capacities, abilities, skills, and talents are different than those with neurotypical brains, not affected by chronic trauma.
That doesn’t make you bad or wrong and it doesn’t mean you have to change the things which make you, you, in order to conform.
Yes, medication may be useful, but, it isn’t a cure, because a cure isn’t needed. Think of it as the difference between “brea...
Upon awaking, all seemed well.
Until entering the kitchen, then I could tell.
The tension seemed to swell.
I heard his voice, clear as day,
with tone, forlorn, “I just want to stay.”
“What do you mean? What did you say?”
“Nothing. I didn’t say a word.”
He threw a quick prayer to the Lord
“How do I tell her, I’ve been transferred?”
“Transferred?!?!” I exclaimed.
Both our confusion reigned.
The atmosphere was strained.
He to me, “How did you know?”
Me to him, “When do you go?”
Our moods suddenly laid low.
“I heard you say it, loud and clear.”
I stated, with a little fear.
He stood, and started to come near.
He thought to himself, “This is surreal!”
“What?” I asked, my confus...