Skip to main content

Life Always Gets In The Way

I want to die all of a sudden. A terrible thought that has been my way of coping since 19.
I have a life worth saving.
Writing is revealing, agonizing, and achingly healing.
A vague sense of emotional truth I cannot articulate.
I used to be very good at memorizing.
All my brain cells performed at their highest performance to survive my childhood.
Memory verses. All English, not Tagalog.
So much so that I couldn’t read the Tagalog Bible.
I could not even pray in Tagalog.
Trauma can physiologically distort the functioning of the brain.
Our brains can hide and erase memory to protect us from unbearable pain.
I don’t think I have forgotten much.
Was my tolerance for pain so high that instead of not remembering, I remembered everything?
Then, because I remembered I developed an anxiety disorder at 12 and full depression seven years later.
Freud suggested that traumatized people will attempt to revisit injury in all its complexity and form, in order to master its terror and regain emotional control. That’s what all my dreams are. Representations and symbolism, so many to mention. Most are recurring. My critic wonders if they’re worth saying.
These are the questions I have to ask myself as I write my novel:
What do you want?
What do you feel?
What do you carry?
What do you most want me to know?
What are you most afraid of?
What do you have to gain by changing?
What do you have to lose?
I’ve revisited these questions so many times in 20+ years of therapy. I finally got the courage to divorce my husband of 14 years after two children. However, I could not do it alone. The decision to divorce had to be separated from judgment and shaming.
My younger sister could not separate it from that. As a result, we have been estranged for almost a decade. She’s okay with it, I’m okay with it. It’s a necessary estrangement.
Life is not a stage.
Life cannot be performed on the stage.
Life cannot fit on the stage.
Certainly, not on the stage of my childhood.
And not the theater of my childhood religion.
All difficult and necessary.
I could get lost in all this depth.
Finding my voice took many years and happened only through my children’s eyes.
My childhood happened through them.
My childhood trauma healed through the childhood I gave them.
My fears often played out in my dreams and mostly devoid of my children’s presence.
Startling depths.
Must continue.


Popular posts from this blog

Contributor Guidelines to ADDitude Magazine

Contributors’ Guidelines Thank you for your interest in contributing to ADDitude. We’re always looking for strong writers, expert webinar hosts, and powerful stories about ADHD, learning disabilities, and other related conditions. 1. Writing for ADDitude MagazineWho: Most ADDitude articles are written by journalists and mental-health professionals. However, we are happy to receive first-person articles by parents, employers, teachers, etc. with personal experience with ADHD or LD and insights that might be helpful to ADDitude‘s readers. How: Read articles on to understand the kinds of articles we publish. Please be aware that story concepts you propose may have been suggested previously by others or may already be planned for publication by our editorial staff. What: If you’d like to propose an article idea or submit a manuscript you’ve already written, please send a query letter to ADDitude. Your query letter should include: A brief description or outline of your ideaWh…


I was introduced to this song by my daughter's chorus. Thanks, Ms. Trobaugh. Crazy that I've only heard of it now.
My daughter learned about it at age 10. That's cool.
Here are the lyrics--
Blackbird The Beatles Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise. Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free. Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night. Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night. Blackbird singing…
My favorite rendition is Sarah McLachlan's:

John Yeoman's Writer's Village

It is sad to admit that I only came across John Yeoman after his death. When I subscribed to his blog, I got this letter--

John Yeoman<>

to me Thank you for your email. It is with sadness that I pass on the news that JohnYeoman passed away peacefully this month (July). This email account is no longer being regularly monitored, and the website and content will no longer be updated.

John has left us somewhat in the dark about the detailed comings and goings of his website and creative endeavours. I hope that you still manage to get enjoyment from his little corner of the internet, however all incoming and outgoing payments from the business Paypal account have been cancelled as of 13th July. Please be assured if you have donated to MacMillan Cancer Support via John we are sending a substantial cheque to this great organisation.

Thank you for your contributions thus far helping the community become the su…