The Fix.

You stare up at me, demanding my attention.

I try to tune you out.

I have a million things to do today-but you are relentless.

You won’t let me be.

It is a need, a strong persistent one.

It won’t be denied.

It cries out in the daytime and in the nighttime,too.

It pushes its own agenda.

It doesn’t give up,it knows I will give in.

An addiction,

A habit I cannot shake.

Pursuing me constantly, not taking “no” for an answer.

So, with hands that shake with eager anticipation for the fix..

I face the blank page…



I have been quite sad this week, but I cannot lie my finger on exactly why.

I know I’m dissatisfied with my life.

I know I’m tired of being afraid.

This line from a song in a Disney cartoon keeps playing in my head:”I want adventure in the great big somewhere, I want it more than I can tell, but every morning is just the same..”

What is it exactly that this restless heart seeks?  I wish I knew.

Fear keeps me from seeking and from defining goals, I realize this, but realizing it is not making me less fearful.

That little voice in my head tells me I’m a failure and should just give up. Tells me I’m not good enough.

I wish it was as easy as ignoring that voice, but it has been a constant companion for too many years. Knowing something intellectually does not always translate to knowing it emotionally.

I have stopped believing that voice, but it still relentlessly bangs at the door, hoping to be let back in and I get weary with the struggle.

I know things will get better they always do. I will get up again, I will face the fears, I will do battle, and I won’t give up.


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For many years I shoved my demons aside, just pretended that they didn’t exist.

Who would care anyway?

That was my mind-set.

I had good reasons to believe in that mind-set.

My mother always encouraged us not to talk about “what went on in this house.”

As an adult, I have wonder, was the school breathing down her neck?

Did our social worker suspect anything?

Why would you say this to your child?

My mother’s abuse was mostly verbally and she had away with words.

She probably could have been a writer, she was talented that way.

My dad could be physical abusive, but it was rare.

He did beat me once or twice with a belt.

Everyone said I had it coming; I was a smart ass even then.

I guess, I agreed –I had it coming.

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I also agreed that I was stupid; my mother when frustrated would always ask me the same question, “Why are you so stupid?”

I didn’t know-but I always believed her.

Our house was one chaotic mess-not in a good way.

The fights between my parents were brutal.

But, all that was nothing compared to the sexual abuse I was forced to endure from ages 8-11 by a family member.

I went from a happy out-going child to a reclusive scared child-didn’t anyone notice?

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The worst blow came as an adult, when the family member who molested me was found out.

Did anyone comfort me?

Did they tell me this wasn’t my fault?

Was anyone angry someone did this to me?

Only one person comes to mind; the rest told me I needed to forgive him.

The rest protected and felt sorry for him.

That hurt like hell-still does.

Growing up, I never told a soul, just pushed it aside and did the best I could.

But, things like that have a way of surfacing in ways you do not even understand at times.

I think I picked my Ex because he seemed safe.

His no emotional outburst seeme comforting at the time.

But, his inability to show emotions left me depressed.

The demons manifested themselves in me in being helpless and clingy with him.

I was looking for him to “save” me from myself and only God can do that.

After many years of trying to save a marriage that was unsavable, I realized, after leaving it, that he was a manipulative liar who was okay with me thinking I was crazy as long as he did not have to face any consequences for his own behavior.



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I was a total control freak with the kids –no one was going to hurt them ever!

Another demon popping its head up and another one I just ignored.

No one could tell me I was not doing right –I would not listen.

I had to keep everyone “safe” that was my mission.

Somewhere down the road I lost my self in all that hiding and ignoring of demons.

And I have hurt the very ones I tried so very hard to protect.

It is hard to make amends for those things, but I have worked on doing so. I have been forgiven and that is in a word is humbling.

I try hard to face what I am, now a days, it isn’t easy and it is not always pretty, but what else can one do?

I have to fight my demons or they’ll win and I am tired of them winning!

Introducing Patrick.

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My first guest blogger is also my first born!  Here he tells you a little about himself…..

My name is Patrick McGimpsey. I normally write on my own blog, however today I have been given an opportunity to write as a guest on my mother’s blog.

I haven’t given much consideration to what I would write about as a guest blogger to be perfectly honest. But then I thought: how about I write a piece that gives a full introduction to myself. I think it is a major problem in the world that people do not bother to get to know one another. We live in a fast-paced society where meeting people is limited to formalities. So I thought that I would give the people who have taken the time out of their lives to read this a description and introduction to yours truly.

As I stated above, I have my blog which I normally write on. It’s a multifarious body of work consisting of film reviews, opinions on variant topics, and references to social issues. My posts on it are, sadly to say, small in number. I do not write as much as I would like simply because I am at a loss to know what to write about most of the time. My mother, on the other hand, is constantly writing new pieces so that it is sometimes hard for me to keep up. I believe she will post a link to my blog somewhere just in case you would desire to check it out.

Now to begin, I will start with my birthplace. I was born on February 4th 1992 in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I remember my life there very little because I was moved away at a young age due to the growing crime rate. My folks (my mom, dad, and sister) and I moved to Midland, Michigan where most of the family on my mother’s side live. We moved again when I was about 12 to St Louis, Michigan for short period of time until we moved a few years later to my current home Mount Pleasant, Michigan. I moved out of my parent’s home prior to their own move to Alma and currently live with a roommate in an apartment in Mount Pleasant.

It was in Saint Louis that I first discovered my nerdy side. My father introduced me to the Lord of the Rings films which impressed me so much that I almost immediately began to read the book.

I eventually tried my hand at writing fantasy fiction myself but with little success. When I moved out of my parent’s home I became a huge movie buff and began collecting DVDs and going to the theatre frequently.

I now can tell you anything you want to know about, Star Wars, Middle-Earth, Harry Potter, Dune, Star Trek, Final Fantasy, and Batman.

I also became somewhat of a TV freak. I own every season of every show relating to Star Trek, and I also own every season of my favorite show House.

I like House. I admire his intelligence and candor. He genuinely doesn’t care what others think and is honest and realistic at all times.

But there is more to me than just being a geek. Deep down I struggle with depression. This became more and more apparent over my adolescent years until finally I attempted suicide and was incarcerated at a Psych Ward for a few weeks. I now take medication which helps to a moderate extent however I do relapse into depressive habits such as sleeping excessively, overeating, dwelling on anger and sadness, and refusing to talk to people or socialize occasionally. I begin to notice an oncoming relapse when I fail to have emotional reactions to activities I love or fail to get excited at good or bad news. When I feel nothing I know a problem is occurring. However, I always pull through eventually and I can learn to be happy again. I do everything in my power to control my depression and not let it control me.

Academically my interests lie in primarily philosophy, literature, and science. I enjoy psychology quite a bit as well and intend to pursue a career in it. I love philosophy because it analyzes human and universal nature with variant perspectives which allows one to make judgments of his own about how the universe functions. That is also why I enjoy literature because it makes such analyses in the form of a dramatic or comedic story. Science interests me simply because it finds absolute truth which philosophy, despite all its advantages, cannot do. Physical science is the best. Chemical and biological science has its place but it is in physics that we really begin to understand the universe.

My personal philosophy involves a great deal of humanism. I believe  we are the only sentient beings in our reach in this universe and so we must rely on each other to survive as a race. I believe Man has a vast potential for good if He is willing to educate Himself and put aside prejudices and outdated Darwinian tendencies toward violence. I don’t believe in god so I am certain that we need as a consequence to evolve into a more reasonable species that seeks to protect rather than harm those that are different or weak. Bowing our heads to pray is too easy. The work is ours to achieve a better future.

But enough of the soap box speech giving! I am going to stop now and leave you to check out my personal blog to get to know me better. Adiu, adios, ellaleqa, ja ne, ciao, and goodbye!

So, now that you have been introduced you can find Patrick’s blog at :

The views of this blogger do not necessarily reflect the views of his Mother.

Why I’m Not Vulnerable.

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So, far I have only written a bit about my childhood and my fears, to tell the truth not sure were this one is going or how it will end up.

Always fearful of sharing my truth, that it will be misunderstood or worse. It is not that I want attention or anyone to feel sorry for me, it is very therapeutic for me to write. But, publishing it, on however small a scale, is always frightening to me. It is a vulnerability and I don’t do vulnerable very well. No, trust was stolen from me at an early age.

Told never to trust in love (my mom) at the ripe age of 8 and abused sexually shortly thereafter by family member.

No, innocence and trust was officially lost

Our house was a house of secrets, which helped fuel my abuser’s ability to molest me.

They didn’t want to know. That is my truth.

I mean when a kid goes from being almost too forward to withdrawn and fearful, don’t you think someone would notice?

I was fed and clothed, I had toys, went to movies, went on family vacations,not rich by any standards, but I didn’t look neglected, either.

But, behind close doors things were very messed up.

Think of putting a sensitive child in the most chaotic hell you can think of, give them little to no praise, tell them to “not talk about the family to anyone outside the family”,  let them witness verbal and physical abuse between the parents,and then on top of that, let a family member rape and use her several times a week, You are not going to be “normal” after all that.

“Normal”is no longer an option.

Survival is all you got left.

Always being in a survival mode leaves little room for vulnerability or for trust. You doubt everyone’s motives, you trust no one, and you fight to make sure you are never used that way again.

Anger can lie dormant for many years, as in my case, but somehow-someway it is going to erupted.

Once the molestation stopped, I tried real hard to be “normal” once again.

But, I would have nightmares and flashbacks.

Those I ignored. I pushed forward,  it was all I knew how to do.

Things caught up to me in my early thirties and I went spiraling down into a long, deep depression lasting almost 10 years. 

I honestly believe one of the greatest impediments against me getting well, was when at last my molester was made known, no one gave a damn, in fact they rallied around the molester and told me I needed to forgive him.

If you ever want to make someone feel like they are not worth a damn thing to you, the tactic above works real well.

I guess that is bitterness, but it still hurts like hell.

I now can see that none of this was my fault and that I didn’t deserve it , because no one deserves this. 

Knowing this and acknowledging I had the right to be angry about it has helped me heal.

I still have a lot to work on, but I realize things can get better and that is very powerful.


A Poet’s Fancy.

I wrote this poem after a nephew’s suicide.

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I see you there

so unlike yourself

But, that is not

what will haunt me the most

It will not be

the overpowering

perfume of the flowers

It will not be

the suit of clothes

they dressed you in

It will not be

those cold stiff hands

silently crossed

against your chest

It will not be

the funereal hymns

nor the pastor’s words


It will be

that half-smile

upon your lips

As, if

you are saying

it is better this way

Is there

any meaning…

behind that smile?

Or is it…

only a poet’s fancy?

I do not know

I only know

that it will

forever haunt me