So much love from my mentor from grad school. This was his response when I told him I was six years sober this month.
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So much love from my mentor from grad school. This was his response when I told him I was six years sober this month.
Poems published
This week I've had three poems published. The first two, one for my mentor, the other after Ada Limon. Today my most harrowing (director of my old MFA program's words) poem was published about the realization of the sexual abuse I suffered as a child, that led to my hospitalization a over a year ago. It involves snippets of memory, lines from my therapist, and phrases from the full manuscript. It took me almost two years to write and format, and was picked up on my first submission. I'm incredibly proud of it, but I still feel vulnerable. I'm reminding myself that I write not only for myself, but others.
So much love from my mentor from grad school. This was his response when I told him I was six years sober this month.
I gave a reading tonight, and debated on reading the heavy poems. I decided to read them anyway. After, a woman in her 60s came up to me and thanked me for telling her story. She made me tear up. I keep thinking of a poet and her wise words when I asked her how she does it. How she can read the poems, how people can hear the words, the truth. Now I understand. My heart has been so heavy lately. My friend's brother dying, a friend's child in the hospital, the bombing, a coworker's mother in the hospital, my mentor's grandfather dying, and now this woman. I just can't.
So much love from my mentor from grad school. This was his response when I told him I was six years sober this month.
I've been nominated for the Best New Poets Anthology!!
This is a really really good thing and I've been told it's a big deal.
Last year I wrote a poem for my friend/mentor who changed my life in undergrad. The woman who I exchange letters with, who loves animals, and sunshine. The woman who has survived so much, and wrote her way out. She was the first person to tell me poetry can heal, and that she believed in me. She has since the first workshop with her. I finally gathered up the courage to send it to her, at a time she needed to be reminded that writing is the way out. She said she was honored. She said a bunch of heart warming things. Then. Then she said the book that started my healing is being reissued this year and in January when she sent in the proofs she had mentioned me in the acknowledgements. I am so incredibly moved that she thought of me like that.
Luck vs work
I've had more acceptances this year than in the last two since I've been submitting. A few people have said I'm lucky. No. I work my ass off. I've been knee deep in revisions for the last year for the book. It shows. I've also been thinking about family, and how I don't want them to read the book when it comes out (as soon as it finds a home) and if they do they need to buy their own copy. I'm not doing anything for free.
Content warning for Depression, CSA, SI, but some good news too.
It’s been a while. Here’s what’s been happening.
My little brother is moving back to Texas, into the house I was abused in. He will be showering in that bathroom.
It’s a double loss, him moving, and moving into a place I can’t really visit.
I’ve been promoted at work. It’s stressful.
I was taken off ativan in January.
All of this led me into a severe depressive episode, with thoughts of suicide. Not bad enough for the hospital, but damn close.
I met with the psychiatrist this week, and sobbed the entire time. We increased the abilify (antipsychotic), and started me back on Prazosin (helps with PTSD) since my nightmares have returned almost nightly. I see her again in a month since I was so bad.
If the abilify doesn’t help me, we’re increasing the lamictal (mood stablizer) for the first time in four years.
In good news, five poems have been picked up from the manuscript, which brings the total to 13 out of 36.
I have three poems up over at spider mirror journal. One is the poem I never thought I could write.
I've been promoted at work. My anxiety is preventing me from seeing this as a good thing.
Mood Problem ADHD (inattentive diagnosis) PTSD we increased the adderall. I like her.
I see my new legit psychiatrist in the morning. I'm nervous, but hoping she will listen. Maybe I'll finally get a diagnosis too.
I emailed one of my favorite poet's thanking them for their work. I'm so nervous.
Hi yes. 2017 will forever be the year I kicked ass, wrote my way out and survived to talk about it.
ALSO, the manuscript was rejected from yet another publisher. So, that's cool.
They decided not to terminate me. I just need to get through one more day and I will have my meds again. I start with a new doc after this appointment. Moving to 12 hour shifts at work the week before Christmas. Still can't write, but I've been able to read some. Talked to A briefly the other morning and he can't write either. Maybe SAD comes with poetry too. We bought new pots and pans and dishware.