Tag Archive for 'Creative Writing'

Pink dryer and a house under my foot

Published on February 1, 2012 in Abuse, Anger, Art Therapy, Emotional abuse, Emotions, Female Sadist and Letters Home. 0 Comments Tags: .

This handwritten journal entry came about when I discovered why I’d been so triggered lately. About a year ago I got dreadlocks, then I discovered its not as easy a hair style at I thought it would be. I have to twist and re-twist as well as sit under my GE tabletop dryer to speed the take of the lock. Doing this reminded me of all the times my mother took me to the hair dresser. I wish I could say it was a pleasant memory but it wasn’t. In order to deal with the triggers I drew a picture of me sitting under the dryer. I did this WHILE I was under the dryer which means I was drawing myself drying my hair.

One of the things about the picture is that the dryer is shown as pink. It’s not. It’s a tabletop GE Dryer in white like the photo shows.

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Dream Therapy: Sister Dies Rewrite

Published on August 22, 2011 in Dream Therapy, Dreams, Emotions, Grief Sadness Loss, Mental Health and PTSD. 0 Comments Tags: , .

In dream therapy you re-write your dream/nightmare so that it has an ending you can live with. The dream I had the other night about my sister had an ending I can’t live with so I’m going to do a creative writing kind of dream re-write. The original dream is here.

It had only been one hour since the University announced immediate evacuation to safeguard students from the fast approaching blizzard, yet the place was deserted. Students and Faculty abandoned the school with speed and fury leaving silence eerily dangling in darkened hallways….Scratch that! Let’s go lighter and skip past the packed cab leaving us behind. We’ll go right to the part where my sister and I are alone in the school.

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Murder is a lot of work

Published on February 7, 2011 in Abuse, Art Therapy, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Female Sadist, Mental Health and PTSD. 3 Comments Tags: .

I spent my entire therapy session today talking about how much my mother should suffer for what she’s done.

I want her to never walk again and be totally dependent on someone else. I want her to have a feeding tube and never taste food again. No freedom, no joy. I want her hair to fall out and for her to weight 500 pounds. I want her bed ridden with bed soars and big black bags under her eyes. I want her bones to ache. Every tiny bone should ache with no end to the pain in sight. I want her eye sight to fail allowing her to only see shadows. I want her locked in a small, dark room with loud techno music and no heat. She should sit naked in her own filth. No dementia, I want her fully aware that she’s suffering.

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Creative Writing: Show and Tell

Published on May 25, 2010 in Abuse, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emotional abuse, Emotions, Grief Sadness Loss, Mental Health and Therapy. 0 Comments Tags: .

Anna raced through the front door and up the stairs to her mother’s room to tell her all about show and tell the next day at school. Everyone would bring in a pet, their favorite pet and tell a story about it. Anna only had Cheyenne to bring. Since she was the only pet she’d have to do and she’d make her look so wonderful that everyone would want one just like her.

At mother’s room Anna burst in the door and exclaimed, “Mama, tomorrow is show and tell. I want to take Cheyenne. Can I? she begged. “Get out of here would you? I’m trying to get myself together for dinner with Roger.” Little Anna sighed and slowly backed out of the room. Ever since Roger entered the picture she saw very little of her mother. She’d leave the house, the city, the state, the country without her and spend time on great adventures, without her. All Anna had was a big empty house … and Cheyenne. She didn’t much care for her either but if that was all she had she’d play with her. But you let a better option come along and Chey could eat her dust for all she cared. She was just a standby anyways, not much anyone could do with her but tolerate her, Anna thought. But tomorrow when she’s put on display everyone will fall in love with Anna for having her.

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Creative Writing – The Natural Order of Things

Published on May 2, 2010 in Art Therapy, Depression, Emotions, Grief Sadness Loss and Letters Home. 0 Comments Tags: .

Ring, ring, ring.

Mom?

Faith? It’s late, what’s wrong?

Yup, it’s me, Faith, your daughter of nearly 40 years. After a long hesitant pause I continue, I have a problem. It’s only the 2nd of the month and I’ve got $15 left. I’m worried. Are you able to help at all?

What happened to all your money? Are you still smoking it up?

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Curly Locks and the Green Iguana

Published on April 9, 2010 in Humor and Pets. 0 Comments Tags: , .

Names have been changed to protect the chick who didn’t use her voice and the chick who stunned us all.

Once upon a time there was a little brown girl named….. let’s call her Curly Locks. Little Curly Locks lived in a dissociative world with several inside playmates. One day Curly Locks was skipping about in a dissociative fugue when her best friend Silly JoAnn Doe called to tell her she was on her way with a wonderful gift. Elated, Curly Locks began to prepare her inside friends for the gift of a lifetime. “It’s going to be wonderful and colorful” said inside friend Shirley. “I bet it’s pink” said a friendly little one full of smiles. Curly and her friends bounced about the house with joyful anticipation.

A few minutes later JoAnn Doe knocked on the door with a huge box with a big red bow. “It’s here, it’s here” shouted Curly Locks, as if her insiders weren’t right there within ear shot. Curly threw open the door and grabbed the box from her friend’s hands. Off came the bow with one tug. Off came the printed little duck paper wrapping in one fell swoop. The box gave her chubby fingers quite a bit of trouble but with several tears each side fell flat to the floor. And there he sat, full beard, mouth open hissing and tail ready to strike.

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STORY: Drive On

Published on September 25, 2009 in Dissociative Identity Disorder, Letters Home and Mental Health. 0 Comments Tags: .

Lenora sat behind the driver’s seat unsure of her next move. To her traveling companion she said, “What now, Danielle? Do we wait or drive on? With near abhorrence in her voice she replied, “We’ve been here on the side of the road for 8 days. I seriously doubt she’s coming.”
“She always shows up, why not this time?”
“She’s not coming. Drive on. ”

The gears strip and the car lunged forward then back as Lenora attempted to drive a beat up manual import down a highway going the wrong direction. While wresting with the shift she can hear the tires struggle for traction, vibrate and quake on black pavement. Then bam! One after the other tires explode. Rubber flies across the sky like black crows and lands where it pleases barely missing families on their way to well planned vacations.

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