/*this is a mild article on trauma related to cultural alienation from the perspective of someone whose migration experiences weren't dramatic or violent thank God, so no trigger warnings. Brief and non-graphic mention of a friend's refugee camp story*/ This morning found myself looking at the signup information for a professional course in trauma therapy … Continue reading Language and trauma
I've been somewhat lost and stranded in Berlin these days, after spontaneous visits, trips, time in the mountains ... living in other people's and their parents' houses. After four months of hermitage, I got an invitation and decided to follow it. Two weeks were great, week three starts with nosebleed, emotional flu and a bout … Continue reading Ships & lighthouses, pillars of identity, and why to sacrifice to the Hungry Gods
as they do in Romania, a pig probably has to be slaughtered. the question is in the choice of pig. some good candidates are pride, identity, comfort, psychological defences, love, money, career, or perhaps home, childhood; the past, the future, memories, or hopes. it's a good menu. apparently slaughtering nothing leads to nothing to eat … Continue reading Berlin mon amour, migrant dilemmas
I wear other people's clothes. I can't resist wanting to know what it's like to be you. Maybe it's better than being me. . Maybe it's a bit of relief from being me. A north star, because being me is disorienting. Quiet and disorienting in that no one has taught me to read the shapes … Continue reading I wear other people’s clothes
This is another bookish post, based on having read Roeper (1982) How the gifted cope with their emotions yesterday. Having been 99% sure that everything points to me being an aspie, I wanted to check the last other possibility that seemed open, namely that most of my social unusualness and permanent feelings of isolation (or there … Continue reading Using giftedness to mask autism. Ever noticed gifted autistic girls?
I live in your house now that you have died. We used to meet and part every summer, for 22 or 23 years. When I was a child, sometimes, after a year, I would barely recognise you on the level of emotions. After driving all night and crossing now mythic borders, I would receive a … Continue reading Letter to the other side. (Real life poetry.)