A Word About Respect

I am reprinting several articles I wrote in the late 80s and early 90s. All of these are true stories. In fact, the events that happened to me, chose my life’s mission for me–to fight against violence against women, in particular, rape, incest and the trafficking of girls, women, and boys into prostitution. I wrote the article, Moving Forward (Healthsharing, Toronto, 1988) only months after I committed suicide. Thankfully, the doctors at St. Paul’s were able to revive me. In writing this, I was extremely fragile. While in my adult-self to write it at all, the trauma detailed is written…

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Six Reasons Why I Love Self-Deprecating Humour

I love laughing at myself. Now, for those who know me, don’t worry that I am doing so to put myself down. Why would I do that? What’s my height again? Oh yeah. I’m four feet six inches on a good day. Trust me, you’ll see nary a hair on my head when the day is less joyous. ********** I’m so shy and almost too reverent of people and things. For instance, if you invite me to a family dinner—yes, even when I’m expected–I still won’t knock on your door too loudly. I don’t want to announce myself by jolting…

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Sexual Abuse and the System: Fighting Back

A year ago I wrote a story on my use of anti-depressant drugs and my experiences in the mental health system. My subsequent choice against anti-depressants has led me into a different arena–the criminal justice system. Last February, I made several police statements implicating two uncles (one for allegedly molesting me when I was about three or four years old, and another for allegedly doing the same to my brothers); my mother and stepfather; and two other men (for allegedly raping me when I was 17). When I mailed the letters to the out-of-province jurisdictions in which the incidents occurred,…

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Paranoia

What do you want? What is it you want? As your amethyst eyes Slither over my face Paw my neckline Denting my nonchalance My demeanour so cool — You’d swear I drank milk. What do you want? What is it you want? Do you assume me Your answer, so easily? Wet nurse, lost sister Your other half gone missing So vital but unnoticed Till you’re about forty-three. What do you want? I must know what you want! As you approach me with gall– Crossing unspeakable lines. At last the secret spills … From a sooo-kissable mouth What is it you…

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Warning

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me, And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells And run my stick along the public railings And make up for the sobriety of my youth. I shall go out in my slippers in the rain And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens And learn to…

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Self-Esteem by Virginia Satir

I am me In all the world, there is no one else like me. There are persons who have some parts like me, but no one adds up exactly like me. Therefore, everything that comes out of me is authentically mine because I alone chose it I own everything about me my body, including everything it does; my mind, including all its thoughts and ideas; my eyes, including the images of all they behold; my feelings, whatever they may be anger, joy, frustration, love, disappointment, excitement; my mouth, and all the words that come out of it, polite, sweet or…

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Wasted and Dying to Be Thin

  Recently, I mentioned on Twitter that I just finished reading Wasted by Marya Hornbacher. I have not written my review as yet.  However, today I thought I would reprint my review of a Fringe Fest play which was published in March 1993; the newsprint is a bit too ragged for total readability, though I will scan the photo that went with the article.  I reviewed this play and read Wasted because at one time my nerves were so bad from post-traumatic stress syndrome (PTSD) that I couldn’t keep my food down. This problem eventually led me to flirt with…

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What Is My Purpose?

Sometimes I ask: What is my purpose in life? Why am I here while my brothers are not?   Why did all that awful stuff happen to me if I did not deserve it? To us? Why does it happen to so many? And then Oprah’s Life Class questions came up again. Am I stuck on my story?  Do I expect people to feel sorry for me? What do I want to accomplish by sharing my stories? What do I know? I want to harm no one. I want to help girls and women whose lives may mirror mine in…

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My Hope Is In The Mountain, by Nancy Wood

My help is in the mountain Where I take myself to heal The earthly wounds That people give to me. I find a rock with sun on it And a stream where the water runs gentle And the trees which one by one give me company. So must I stay for a long time Until I have grown from the rock And the stream is running through me And I cannot tell myself from one tall tree. Then I know that nothing touches me Nor makes me run away. My help is in the mountain That I take away with…

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