What they don’t tell you is that when the cold fire of metal handcuffs encircles your wrists, even loosely, you’ll believe, for a second, that you are a criminal. You are not safe. You’re a danger to yourself and these metal rings prove it.
Dear writers of trauma, You and I both know that writing about trauma can be cathartic in any form, be it fiction or nonfiction, novel or personal essay. We are encouraged, as writers and storytellers and trauma survivors, to “write our truth” so we can heal but there is an underlying occurrence that I don’t... Continue Reading →
A possible scene for my novel about a girl who gets institutionalized 4 days before she graduates college
Before my parents’ decision to get a divorce, or rather, what caused them to have that conversation in the first place, what I called The Thing That Ruined My Life, I was a high school freshman and relatively content with my life, but all that changed during the first month of school. Summer was still... Continue Reading →
The wooden figurine of Christ nailed to the cross hangs right behind my dad’s pulpit and always gives me the creeps. Maybe because it’s a constant reminder of my sin and worthlessness apart from Christ, which on other days would give me hope, but not today. Today, the cross mocks me. Maybe it’s the condemnation... Continue Reading →