I’ve made a start on making what was a bit of a self reassurance blog into something more purposeful. It matters less now whether it’s seen although I hope it might be of interest and help to others. I’ve started using pages and a menu where chapters can be pulled up. This weekend, I’ve written… Continue reading Progress and plans
I am 52 and I am someone who has struggled with my adult identity and has experienced PTSD. My child; my younger self, was damaged by domestic turbulence and as an adult, I have carried my child with me, living to protect him. The fear I carried has shaped my response to the individuals around me… Continue reading Who am I?
I’m ready to write in different ways and I’m going to sign off here soon. Keeping my struggles alive here feels counter-productive. For all of you, who have taken interest and encouraged me, I thank you sincerely. There are a few people who have encouraged me greatly and helped me to accept and love who… Continue reading To end and begin again
PTSD has had its way with me and held the person I want to be back from living and loving. I Look for someone to control my senses when I feel out of the world and to hold me in some safe space for a while. Living in ‘a cupboard’, emotionally, has been exhausting and… Continue reading Susie Mace, Saturday 28th December 2019.
Christmas wishes go out all of the dishes and dreamboats, all of the protagonists and mind expanding revealers of truth, you are gifts that are beyond compare. Thank you to all of those people here who have made 2019 rather special. I wish everyone the merriest of Christmas days and the most peaceful of holidays.
I live amongst rocks, a tide, crashing against their edges, retreating as the moon; my heart, draws water back to its gravity. A circadian moon triggers a storm tide to race for shore, away from danger and then once again, to retreat and safety. A broken child has his head programmed to fly and hide.… Continue reading Tidal emotions
As a child, I was made to go to church. Sunday mornings were spent in a small Catholic church in the Somerset countryside. I’ve been wondering how much my experiences there have my identity. High church brings smells and bells. Sensuality, arguably, is stirred by those stimuli which we encounter. The plastic, elastic developing mind… Continue reading Spirit and sensuality
The kites wing furls and curls, A twitch of the frame as a gust flips its edge, Light passes through its grey clear skin, Bobbing on the eddies, It dips and darts on a taught string. Tugging it to me, Holding on, Wanting to fly with her as she soars. The boy flies and climbs,… Continue reading Kite and boy reunited