This Side of Invisible

This time last year, I was salivating for a new year full of opportunity. I was aching for new chances to learn, to grow, to prove myself, to improve myself. And I had this great plan to help me accomplish all these dreams I had: I was going to have a word for my new year. I was going to research my word, dive into my word and let it guide me through my year. This word had to be perfect, had to sum up all the things I wanted to be, to do, to gain. I found the perfect word. Fixed. I mean, that word was so many things. I defined how I wanted to feel, what I wanted to become, how I wanted to live. I wanted to be fixed mentally and emotionally, healed from past hurts and freed from those things that had once haunted me. I wanted to be fixed in my course of moving towards financial peace and prosperity. I wanted to be fixed in my ways of believing in myself, allowing myself to dream, allowing myself to achieve. I wanted to be fixed, firmly rooted in my life, present every moment, t...

Anyone that follows my blog... ehem, all two of you... has probably noticed that the tone has changed over the last year. I've written less and what I have written, some of it has been almost cryptic. There's a reason for that. I've been struggling with this question: How do I write my story when it involves so many others? Perhaps this is the answer: Also, Ernest Hemingway said, "Write hard and clear about what hurts." So here it is:  I was sexual abused as a child. The pit of snakes in my stomach are alive and biting after typing that for all the world to see. So much shame. And yet, I feel empowered. Strength is running through my veins at the liberation that owning this statement brings. It's not that I need to wear it as a badge, but not being able to have an open dialogue about it is suffocating. And yet, having an open dialogue about it often leaves me feeling too exposed. Ya know? Vulnerability hang-overs suck. Mostly, I...

Mixed Messages by Aimee Rae Ellington MIXED MESSAGES      MIXED MESSAGES           MIXED MESSAGES Dinner is served.     "All is well."              All is not well!     "Stop whimpering! You are fine!"             I am NOT fine.                 NO, I'M IN PAIN!!!     "Sit down and eat your supper."             It hurts to sit down                    can't you tell                            didn't you hear my screams                                     can't you feel my PAIN??? "Clean up your plate.      Don't you appreciate how hard your mother...

--> Au Naturel : in a natural state; without anything added. Bare : devoid of amplification or adornment; lacking tools or weapons. Raw : not treated or prepared for presentation, marked absence of refinements, unprotected. Nude : without conventional covering; having a natural appearance. Naked : devoid of concealment or disguise; lacking embellishment. In the beginning, God’s children came into this world naked and naked they remained while in close communion with Him. It was only after Adam and Eve had gone against their Father’s wishes and partaken of the forbidden fruit that Satan pointed to their nakedness and shamed them for it, pushing them to hide themselves from God. It has been the story ever since. Death is a separation of our spirit and bodies. Eternal death or spiritual death is a separation from our Father in Heaven. This is the Adversary’s sole focus. And since the beginning he’s known just how to push us away from God. He villainizes our divine origin, ...

Thanks to the brilliant C.J. Anaya, I get to introduce you to one of my favorite characters today.  C.J. invited me to be a part of this blog hop and few weeks ago, and, finally, it's my turn. But before we get to my man Luke, please meet C. J. Anaya. C. J. Anaya began writing short stories for family and friends when she was thirteen years old. This soon morphed into an extensive project every year during Christmas as a way to create a fun and inexpensive Christmas gift. Now she is the author of “The Healer” . Ladies and Gents, I've read this book and it is FAN-Freakin-TASTIC! I recommend it wholeheartedly. Her passion for reading and writing led her to following her own dreams of becoming a published author. She was born in Utah and raised everywhere else. She even lived a few years in Brazil, enjoying the people, the culture and learning the beautiful language of Portuguese; a language she is still fluent in to this day. As a result of her exposure to...

Looking back now, it’s all so obvious. But you know what they say about hindsight… The first time I cut my own hair, we were living in Wyoming, it was summer and I was hot. I was tired of trying to grow my hair out and we didn’t have money that day for me to go to a salon, so I just started chopping. It was liberating. Setting myself free from my heavy, overlong tresses. Okay, let’s be honest, my hair was just reaching my shoulders, but anyone that knows me knows that I’ve had short hair for over fifteen years. It’s just me. Though, there may be a mental block as to why that is… hmmm, I’ll have to ponder that one. I remember feeling like a new woman after giving myself that first haircut. Something inside me felt lighter, a little less stressed, a little less painful. That should have been my first clue. Well, that and the timing… it was a remarkably stressful time for me. Over the past seven years, I’ve continued to sporadically cut my hair. Though it’s gone from ...

A while ago, I was prompted to write about a place I had been, I chose to write about my experience inside depression. INSIDE It’s dark in this place.  The kind of dark that paralyzes every muscle and weighs heavy in one’s lungs. It presses in on my ears with its silence, causing them to ring.  I want to scream, but my mouth won’t open.  Every joint and ligament is tense, waiting to spring into action. The very marrow in my bones struggles against unseen restraints.  Sweat collects on my forehead from the effort.  My head spins as my breathing grows evermore shallow.  I’m on the verge of implosion, though, from outward view it probably seems like a quiet collapse.  It is not quiet.  The shrieking pain of it all pushes blood from my ears. I am dying.   No, I realize.  My fate is worse.  I’m a prisoner here.  Fear has me in his clasp and laughs at my timorous attempt to escape.  Hot tears pool in my ears, not blood, ...