Well folks, now you know the worst of it (See post, “In The Well With Tolstoy”). Being a creative type, I sometimes imagine something worse happening to me in the future, but thankfully, so far, nothing has come close to losing my brother and father to suicide.  Sometimes[…]

Note: My husband just read this post and said if he didn’t know better, he would think this was something that happened to me recently. He is expecting calls from friends, “Is Linda all right?” I explained to him that people who read my blog know that I[…]

Close to the Edge

  I had run from Michael the Archangel in 1973 and was living with my rescuer for about a year. At first, I felt relieved and somewhat settled. I knew I had some post traumatic stress symptoms. For instance, when my boyfriend attempted to put his arm around[…]

Hiding from Michael the Archangel, but mental illness would find me.

I had finally gotten away from Michael the Archangel (See prior post). Once the taxi dropped me off at my new friend Skip’s apartment and he got over the shock that I actually showed up, he helped us get settled in. I sat on his couch shaking like[…]

The thing about tragedies is that they catch you by surprise.  You get up in the morning and lazily eat breakfast as if you have all the time in the world.  You pick out something to wear (as if it mattered), and lackadaisically wander through the routine of[…]

(If you are new to this blog, a good way to read it is to start with the very first post, “It Was A Dark And Stormy Night” which I posted in May 2012. You can locate it in the archives. This is a memoir, the story of[…]

A year passed, and we were still living with the guy I met at work…the one who rescued me from Michael the Archangel.  We just sort of settled in, pretending to be a family.  Except for flinching every time he tried to put his arm around me, I[…]

What does a neglectful childhood in an alcoholic family, a stint in juvenile hall, The Beatles, gang-bangers and prostitutes, teen marriage and motherhood, the state mental hospital, gang rape, life on the streets, rock and roll and a decade of drug abuse, battering, serious mental illness, the suicides[…]

God gives every bird its food, but he does not throw it into the nest. -Josiah Gilbert Holland My mother had been dead for four months. I had become the matriarch of our family in one fell swoop.  At only 34-years-old, I felt alone on the planet. I[…]

My brother’s suicide left me feeling as if I had been pushed over an emotional cliff, arms flailing as my body hit the jagged edges of rock outcroppings on the way down. The suicide of my father felt like I had been tied to the front of a[…]