Sundays.

Sundays are always hard for me.

The weekend is over. The new week and all of its tasks are looming.

But loneliness is the real killer. Continue reading

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…And it hits

I’m tired but, against my better judgment, I am staying up to write this.

The last few days have been traumatic.

It started in the middle of the night…those weird, transitional hours between Wednesday and Thursday. There was coughing. I felt my husband move out of bed and murmur. And then, a shaky scream for help.

I dashed out of bed, awake in a flash. I peeked into the bathroom…blood. Blood was everywhere.

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How I’ve been defined

Yesterday, I embarked on another EMDR journey–this time, in an attempt to get to the bottom of my perfectionism. The journey itself was not as traumatic and difficult as some of the others have been, and images did come swimming before my closed eyes. One image–of a high cinder block wall that I was trying to scale, jump off of, and leave behind–seems especially relevant in my attempt to escape my little town, where I was known, had history, and, most likely, very few secrets. Breaking into my cliquish peer group as an outsider was never something that I feel like I completely achieved, and my experiences of being bullied, not fitting in, and then trying to prove myself and be better than some of them, certainly contributed to my feelings of inferiority and judgment.

So, while this was telling to me, these are not the moments that stood out to me during this EMDR session. Continue reading