No Contact – Annie

byanniemd007
Dec 22,22
Babies, childhood trauma, Christmas, Domestic Violence, Empty Nest, Girl Power, Grief, Love, Middle Aged Women, Motherhood, Plus Size Plastic Surgery

Fragile. But not. 🖤

When we lived with Doc, we were artsy. We went to see movies at Tower Theatre. Movies that I think are cool now, but not the ones I wanted to see then. We saw El Norte, The Gods Must Be Crazy, Out of Africa, Raising Arizona, The Legend of Greystoke,…

byanniemd007
Nov 14,22
Coming of Age, Grief, Love, Middle Aged Women, Motherhood, neglect, PTSD

Doorbell Ditch 🖤

So I haven’t felt like writing lately. I’ve been stuck in my head with thoughts that hide, even from myself. Unidentified tears sting but don’t fall, because if I admit why they are there or where they belong, it’s too much. Overwhelming. Sometimes, it’s all too much. And as you…

byanniemd007
Oct 04,22
abandonment, childhood trauma, Middle Aged Women, Motherhood, neglect, Road Trip

Burning Bridge 🖤

I’m stuck. I have been avoiding writing. This part has deep feelings, as they all do, but it’s not just nostalgia. It’s a story of bravery, growth, trust, and survival. For all of us. And deep blue pain, a shade different from the rest. We are at the point of…

byanniemd007
Sep 06,22
Middle Aged Women, Motherhood, neglect, Rafting

Riding the Rapids 🖤

My friend, Jen, gave me an icy cold Squirt in a can, yesterday. I haven’t had a Squirt in years. Like I can’t remember when. It was so good, especially in this 111 degree heat. Squirt reminds me of my childhood, which I seem to have been avoiding. My dad…

byanniemd007
Aug 15,22
childhood trauma, Love, Middle Aged Women, Motherhood, Plus Size Plastic Surgery, PTSD

Dill Chicken 🖤

It must have been 7th grade when we lived on 45th Street in East Sac. Not 45th and J. Not even 45th and H. More like 45th and F, if you know what I mean. Not the Lady Bird street. It was Doc’s house. He was nice enough, unless I…

byanniemd007
Aug 02,22
abandonment, childhood trauma, Grief, Love, Middle Aged Women, Motherhood, neglect, PTSD

Jack-In-the-Crack 🖤

I don’t know where to begin. Definitely not in Times New Roman. Not Arial. Maybe Book Antiqua. For sure not Comic Sans. I have always written things. My thoughts, my memories, my joy, my sorrow. You name it. Just not term papers. Never quite lived up to my “academic potential”…