family
Family can be our support system. Or they can be part of the problem. All about the complicated, loving, and difficult relationship with us and the ones who love us.
A Good Death
Ever since her divorce, Veronica immersed herself in spirituality, first studying meditation technique, then reading the many masters of recent times. One theme kept popping up: a good death. If one could overcome the illusion that one was separate from all else, Veronica read, then one would be able to accept death peacefully, even joyfully. She learned that death is merely the continuation of life, in a new form, of course, and was even beginning to see that true union is fully possible only in death.
By Denise Davis4 years ago in Psyche
Paul Harvey and My Father With the Detox Shakes
He put the drink aside years before, but his hands still shook as he worked the wood in front of him. My father, ever busying himself in the dust-filled, smoke-choked garage with his newest projects. Some he would find at flea markets, these fortresses of a former age. They would come through the garage door, huge wooden cabinets so old even my father had not been born before they were already dust-covered in an attic somewhere.
By Ira Robinson4 years ago in Psyche
The Mirror
Dear Mom, This is supposed to be a confession, but it is also to be written in the form of a letter, so there are certain rules that I need to follow. Usually, I begin all of my letters to you discussing my state of mind, and then I fill in the heart of it with what I have done with my life since my last letter (or, more often, phone call). Those messages can get repetitive and dull and I have no interest in repeating myself.
By Kendall Defoe 4 years ago in Psyche
A love child
It was a normal day for us. My boyfriend and I had spent the entire day together. We got up in the morning per usual and ate breafast with our daugther. We then spent the day out as a family and it was one of the best days we have had in a long time. He then asked if jus the two of us could go for a drive and grab a burger and fries. As we were eating our food something seemed off. He was quiet and a lot more distant than what he had been all day.
By Isabelle Torres4 years ago in Psyche
Blacksheep among Blacksheep
I never really did fit in among my family members. I always felt a little different, or dare I say unwanted? It wasn't only me at first because it was my entire family unit. Out of my grandfather's 4 children, 3 of them were different. Only the youngest was wanted around and was allowed to be himself. My mother was the only female and, while she was favored a little here and there, she shot herself in the foot when she married my father and had me.
By Holly Thackston4 years ago in Psyche
My Work As A Therapist And Substance Abuse Counselor Did Not Prepare Me To Counsel My Children Or Grandchildren
There is an elephant in the living room, and in this case, on the other side of the fence, and no one is talking about it and when the scapegoats in the family bring it up, they are told. No, silly, there is no elephant here! Or “What the hell are you talking about now? Are you crazy?”
By Denise E Lindquist4 years ago in Psyche
Things you never knew
From the start, my life was complicated. My biological father took me away from my birth mother at 8 1/2 weeks old. I was raised by him and my step mother. I never knew about my real mother until I was close to 9 years old. One day I came across a picture in my fathers desk, and I saw a very beautiful woman with a baby. I just knew that the baby was me. So, that meant that she had to be my mother, not the woman I was currently calling mom. My step mother for one....had red hair, I do not. I tried to confront my father about this, he verified she was my mother; took the picture from me and told me to never ask about it again. That was the end of that, never again did I EVER hear anything about my birth mother while I was with him. Before this, instances had happened that changed my life forever. My father molested me at 7 years old. He also consistently did drugs and beat my stepmother. On one such day, the cops came and I was put into my first foster home. She was an older lady, very nice. The courts decided from there to try home visitation, and let me go back to my stepmother and father. At age ten, he decided that he couldn't do it, and signed off his rights on me. I knew even then, a child at that age rarely gets adopted out. Anotherwords, my future was now pretty bleak. I went through 8 foster homes in all, some more than once. My first and second foster homes I was put into on more than one occasion. The first was nice, the second was not. The second home was a HUGE farm with other 3 other foster kids, 2 parents and her own children lived there also. I got treated fine to start, but the foster mothers daughter walked in on me using the bathroom one day, and ran to tell her mother that I was "being inappropriate" in the bathroom. From that point on in the system, I was treated badly and differently. They thought that just because I was molested, that I would mirror things. Totally not the case. I went to school like most kids, tried to find some normalcy there. I joined choir, but never got to go to the concerts. I tried to fit in at the house and often put on little talent shows to get some kind of attention. I was looked at with care only in those times. Me and one other girl were constantly kept busy with chores, made to swim in irrigation ditches where the cows were instead of the big pool they had in the back yard. We were often fed expired food. I was very thankful to leave that place. The next place I went to had one girl leaving, and two little kids coming in shortly after me. We were outside playing on a hot day one day, and a lady came by offering us ice cream. I took it and shared with the little ones. I never heard the end of that one. Because of it, we all had to take epicac and it made us all extremely sick. I was then locked in my bedroom and only let out for baths and to go to the bathroom. My meals were served to me in there and if I didn't eat, I was verbally abused and physically abused. After this place, they put me back at my second home for a while. They went on a vacation to California and I got to stay with a friend of theirs. I wish I could've stayed there forever. They were nice and taught me about Jesus. The lady was very kind and didn't treat me like an outcast. Her and her husband were younger couple without any children. But it was short lived. I went back to my own personal hell for a while longer. After that, they put me in a place with a nurse and a cop. They had a blind daughter, and were extremely nice. Did I get in trouble there? Yes. Was everything always perfect there? No. But they were the first family that ever took me in and showed me love and tried to teach me what it was like to be a part of a real family. I would help them with their blind daughter all the time, we became fast friends. During my time in this house is when they found my mother. I was scared and excited and sad all at the same time. Would she like me? Did she want me? What about the family I was currently with? They said they wanted me and what was going to happen then? Would I ever see them again?
By Trisha Brandhorst 4 years ago in Psyche
