The Journey Begins

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

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Today, January 28, 2018, is the day I acquired this WordPress address. I am currently hard at work, writing and editing my memoir. My husband and I are also buying a house and moving in less than two weeks. Soon after that, I will have surgery for a non life-threatening, but potentially serious condition, which I’ve ignored for too long. So, we have a lot going on!

Because my plate is full right now, I don’t have the time to do much writing on a blog. But when my memoir is almost ready to publish, my plan is to come back and start posting here then.

I have been trying, off and on, to write my story for the past forty-four years. In May of this year, my oldest granddaughter will graduate from Harvard, a few days after I turn sixty-five. It hit me last night, as I was thinking about these milestone events: there will never be a better time to write my story, than NOW!

Especially with the horrific news reports that have come to light recently about the thirteen abused Turpin children, today is the time for me to write my memoir. Until now, I have allowed fear to stop me — the fear that no one will believe my real-life horror story. But the people who may not believe my story, shouldn’t even figure into this decision. I need to tell my story for the benefit of those who WILL believe me, in many cases because they, too, have survived a childhood from hell.

Although my traumatic experiences may not have been as severe as some of the things I’ve read about the Turpin family, there are many similarities. Because of what I went through as a child, when I was fourteen years old I “lost my mind” to PTSD, which wasn’t even an official psychiatric diagnosis until 1980. Back when I was a teenager in the 1960s, although my behavior was never out of control or threatening in any way, my parents went against my doctor’s advice and committed me to a notorious insane asylum, the now-defunct “State Hospital #3” in Nevada, Missouri.

Soon after I arrived there, when I asked the ward psychiatrist how soon I could go home, he coldly informed me that 97% of the people committed to that mental institution were never permanently released . . .

But, my story did not end there!

I need to write my memoir NOW, partly to affirm and validate others who have experienced similar traumas and abuses, and also to share how I went from utter brokenness and despair, to a life that is filled with hope, healing, love, and laughter. Although I still have a few remaining symptoms of Complex, or Developmental, Post-traumatic Stress Disorder — especially during the Christmas season, which is the time of year when my mother tried to gas us all to death — today I am nothing like the hopelessly shattered young girl that I was half a century ago!

If you believe in prayer, please say a prayer for me to get my Growing Up Crazy memoir written and published soon! In the meantime, if you want to read more about my story, you can check out my old blog, A Blog About Healing From PTSD.

Thank you for stopping by, and God Bless.

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