Barf.
Sometimes, (many times), I look at my writing from title to conclusion and just think,
Big, fat, barf.
Sometimes, (many times), I look at my writing from title to conclusion and just think,
Big, fat, barf.
Dear World,
Years ago, I believed I was unintelligent. As a child, I worked very hard to hide my perceived stupidity and the shame that accompanied it. I was convinced that anytime I appeared to be intelligent, it was artificial. Naturally, this internal messaging, along with other self-mutilating messaging, was totally false. Continue reading “A Love Letter to Artificial Progress & Real Regression”
Once I am right, I will really write.
Maybe I am writing now.
I am ill with a lie told as truth
and a truth that I wish was a lie.
And me, a woman who rarely asks, “Why?”
is asking, “Why?” Continue reading “Writing Right, Righting the Wrong”
It’s no secret that here in Chicago, most of us have the World Series on our minds. While I don’t watch any of the games, (not due to lack of interest, but to keep peace and quiet within myself), I have been following these games periodically through Facebook and other social media streams. Continue reading “Fickle Facebook Fans, Fan the Flames”
Every so often, I don’t want to post or go public with the truth about myself. Right now, I’d prefer to post a comparative analysis of my body measurements, weight and BMI from age 18 to present day, or even post a daily food intake journal that demonstrates my consumption of three pieces of cake, more than I want to publish a post that states that I had, over the past several days, been feeling pretty down. I was stricken with fear, self-doubt and partial paralysis of my left brain, which in Pam-speak, translates to, “Quit now because you’ll never do or be anything you can actually feel good about. You’ve already failed, and when push comes to shove, you are wholly unlovable.”
Now, where’s the rest of that cake? Continue reading “A Bout of Doubt is not the Death of Breath”
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Melbourne Clinical Psychologist
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Depression of The Arts
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