As 2013 draws to a close, I’m looking back at its beginning.

January 1, 2013 found me alone in my apartment, ringing in the New Year completely engrossed in an old season of a new-to-me TV show.

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Healing, Mental Health, Writing

More than we think we are

As in most stories, the truth is stranger than fiction.

I write because it’s what I do, but more than that, because I need to make some meaning of what seems to me a wasted life.

And I share my story because it’s only just beginning — and facing the past and moving forward are things we should never have to do alone.

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Healing, Mental Health

When tears are your language

“Tears are words the heart can’t say.”

I held most of my tears inside until I was 22. Before that, I’d numbed myself to cope with the trauma. I didn’t cry, but I didn’t smile much either.

In just the last few years, I’ve started crying pretty much every day for a million different reasons — sometimes a single tear; sometimes a total breakdown; at home, and in public.

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It’s been nearly a month since I moved from below ground to far above it.

The balconies here are odd — almost completely enclosed — and I soon learned why. As the wind sweeps, frigid, off the river, it whips along the sides of this boat-shaped building, as if my new home were meant for gliding smoothly through the water, not staying embedded in the ground.

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Mother’s Day — sorrow and surprises

This photo of my mother with her own mum, my Gram, was taken in August 2011, 4 months before Gram died unexpectedly. Although she was unconscious for around a week before she died, we didn’t get the chance to say a true goodbye.

I’d forgotten this photo completely — the very last of the two of them together — then discovered this wonderful surprise on my camera. I zeroed in on their smiling faces, squinty eyes and all!; then printed and framed a copy for my mother and one for myself.

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