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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The Truth About Me

  The truth about me is that I tuned in to Oprah’s Life Class for a few minutes today. The challenge that impaled my chest one minute in was, Are you addicted to your story? Impaled my chest? Yes, I’m a super-sensitive person so bristles sprang up on the back of my neck too.  Iyanla Vanzant kept saying to a woman on skype, “. . . that’s the story you keep telling yourself. What is the real story?” The truth about me is I love a good challenge.  I needed a lot of therapy to survive and combat the depression…

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On Humour and Mental Health

Status Update By Terry Gibson Just had to say: I use humour a lot. Mostly self-deprecating. Today — as someone who has been in therapy for over two decades — I joked about therapeutic issues. I mean no disrespect to therapists or anyone living with a mental illness. I have dealt with depression all of my life and understand more than someone might think. If I ever upset you, write me. Kindly and respectfully. I’ll gladly listen and give you a heartfelt apology. Finally, given my background, therapists have taken me from a selectively mute, self-hating and destructive child to…

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My Poem – “Hard” – Originally Entitled “Fourteen” – True Story

HARD If only I had known How tough it would be to be jump-started daily by a vacuum cleaner hose Cracked over my legs And Mom’s shrill tones Yelling, accusing. Frantic, I fall out of bed still shaking and sweating ice from being locked up Alone, last night in the attic. Hope crystallizes and evaporates I love yous and hugs do not exist Only the verbal machete, punctuated by blows from my own baseball bat. While somewhere, laughter echoes from A joke only I could not grasp. At school, peer pressure dealt me another nerve-grating punch Piercing and curious eyes…

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