Publishing My Memoir!

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(This is a very bad mock-up of the cover. Also, Michelle will be changed to Ginger because when you search for Michelle McGee on Google…well, just see for yourself.)

/Widgetflex.swf” target=”_blank” rel=”noopener”>Help Me Publish!!!

1 in 360 (approximately 138,000 US children) have been diagnosed with Tourette Syndrome, based on parent report.

Run your fingers through my soul. For once, just once, feel exactly what I feel, believe what I believe, perceive as I perceive. Look, experience, examine, and for once, just once, understand.
-Author Unknown 

He’s Not Broken, is a 16 chapter 65,000 word, non-fiction, autobiographical book of a mother and son’s journey to healing and acceptance. An inspirational testimony of how a life filled with challenges – OCD, Tourette’s, Anxiety – can be used as a vehicle to engage in a proactive approach, rather than a life of silence and denial, it teaches us all that reaching out to others can make a difference.

I began writing He’s Not Broken 10 years ago. 10 years! I did have an agent express interest and request edits, but I’m almost embarrassed to say that those edits took me 5 years. Life happened. OCD happened. Anxiety happened. And every time I sat down to work on edits, I had to face the pain of all those years of struggle. Maybe I needed to take that long in order to have some time away from the story, so that I could make it even stronger in hindsight.

That said, since I have been carrying this book baby for 10 long years, I really need to bring it into the world now.

I believe in He’s Not Broken. I feel certain that it’s a book many will find helpful – caregivers, parents, family members – anyone who has a close connection to someone who requires special needs.

It’s the book I needed when Jake was first diagnosed. It’s the book that would have made me feel less alone. And, even though I certainly had support from family, it wasn’t the same. I needed a friend who could listen, but more than that I needed someone who had navigated the same waters, the same emotions. I want He’s Not Broken to be my stand-in since I can’t reach out personally to everyone. More than anything, I want my book to give others hope.

That’s where you guys come in. I hate asking for things, but He’s Not Broken needs to be available sooner rather than later.

If I’m going to self-publish, I’m going to do it right. That means lots of self-promotion, and a bit of an investment upfront.

I will need about $2500 to get this book out there. That will/should cover the following costs:

copyediting
cover and interior design
advertising
purchase of ISBN number
marketing and publicity
book trailer
promotional copies of book

AND THERE WILL BE CAKE! Ok, maybe not cake, but I have some incentives/rewards to offer as a thank you to all who donate!

And for everyone who donates I will be forever grateful for your support!  Please click this link: /Widgetflex.swf” target=”_blank” rel=”noopener”>Help Me Publish!!!

Peace,
Ginger

 

 

 

New Year = New Old Me

 

IMG_2429Here we are again – a new year with possibilities waiting to unfold. For many, that means a complete makeover—mind, body, soul. The big three. The holy trinity of guaranteed happiness. An overhaul. And while some will be looking to buy a whole new computer, I’m looking to reboot the one I have back to its factory settings.

It really wasn’t that long ago that I used to know what I was doing. I was by no means perfect, but I had an idea of what I needed not just to survive, but to live. After all, that’s the point, right? I’d like to say this past year was that time, but I have to be honest with myself and admit that it’s been the past few years that I’ve lost sight of my own picture.

Last year was particularly bad. I was hit hard with one of the darkest depressive episodes I’ve ever had. And it lasted a very long time. A combination of life stuff and a full hysterectomy that unleashed a pretty horrific army of hormones or lack of, and I began a spiral that nearly ruined me. (But I did get some good poems out if it).

I won’t get into the particulars, but it was bad enough that I chose to admit myself into the hospital—a decision that would affect my whole family in a way that has caused many problems. 😦 It was a difficult decision for me to make considering the stigma attached to such places. And why is that? Shouldn’t we be applauded for recognizing that we need a break, that we need help?

I’ll write more about my experience in the hospital in another post because I think it’s an important post and doesn’t need to be lost in the middle of another.

Back to my reboot. For me it’s the simple stuff, that I’ve allowed to be swallowed up by the struggles I’m having in other areas of my life. And when I say simple, I mean just that simple, basic.

  1. Eating – it’s something I tend to forget when I’m stressed or depressed. And then when I do eat, it’s usually not the most nutritional. Think pickles and crackers. Honestly, food is never something I’ve really enjoyed like I feel like I’m supposed to. Remnants of my days courting an eating disorder, I’m sure. So even on the days when I would remember to eat, it would make me sick. Like my body wasn’t quite sure what was happening.
  2. Drinking –  let me clarify – drinking water. I had the other covered. I know I must be severely dehydrated. Sometimes I’d go the whole day having only had coffee in the morning, and wine in the evening. Other than water to brush my teeth, I really didn’t have any. Not good. No wonder I’m tired all the time. Oh yeah, you can add pickle juice to that list, because I love me some pickle juice. I’m surprised I haven’t dried up.
  3. Exercise – I always know I’ll feel better. Always. And yet….

So there it is—easy as pie. Right? So it would seem. I want it to be easy. But I know that I’m going to have to dig in and go all Nike on it, and soon. So why is it so hard for me?

I’d love to know if you struggle with some of the same issues. It’s in sharing that we learn. I’ve shared. Now it’s your turn!

Tag! You’re it.

Peace, Ginger

 

Debut book of poetry on Amazon!

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Click on this link to purchase your copy of Nothing & Everything – a chapbook of poems about depression. If you are so moved to purchase my book, and, after reading it, are moved even more, please post a review on Amazon. This is a dream come true for me and I want to continue to pursue my passion. Your comments will help me get there. Thanks in advance.

 

– On being there for you

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how can i be strong for you

when my bones have been crushed?

how can i comfort you

when i sleep in blankets of sadness?

how can i hold you

when my arms carry the weight of the world?

how can i listen to you

when the voices in my head are screaming?

how can i walk a mile in your shoes

when i can’t even get back on my feet?

how can i be part of your life

when my own life isn’t whole?

 

how can i be anything to you

when i’m nothing to myself?

                                — on being there for you

 

 

No Longer Standing

 

Who am I that the world

chooses to rest on

my shoulders?

That sadness floods

my veins –

each step a concrete block?

That my bones

splinter

piercing, piecing the distance –

a bridge of pain?

Each breath

a glass bubble

shattering with every

inhale.

Where is peace? Trapped

in the pages

of a book?

Bound and

covered in dust.

The trees

hold my thoughts

in their

thin skins.

Perhaps the oak

will accept these

words – another story

absorbed by those

no longer standing.

The Face of Depression

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If I asked you to pick the photo that shows me in a depressive state, you’d probably pick the second photo. Right?

Well, you’d be both right and wrong.

Those of us who carry this darkness around with us, are very good at showing the world what they want to see. Or better yet, shielding them from what they don’t want to see.

These photos were taken on the same day. One was posted to Facebook. One wasn’t.

Why is it that mental illness is so hard to talk about? In my experience, it’s just easier not to talk about it. In order to avoid questions that I either won’t be able to answer, or choose not to answer because the person asking won’t like or understand the answer.

Sadness is an emotion. Emotions can be easily understood, or accepted because we all feel them.

Depression, or Major Depressive Disorder is a state of being. It doesn’t run it’s course and then leave. It isn’t a reaction to something that happened or didn’t happen.

It lives inside of me all the time. Most of the time it stays hidden. But it’s not something I have control of. I can’t just choose to get over it.

So I’ve learned to smile for everyone who needs it.

Is there someone in your life who might be smiling on the outside, while struggling on the inside? Are you?

Don’t be afraid to ask for help. And if you aren’t comfortable talking face to face, you can text the Crisis Text Line (741-741). The most important thing to know is that you are not alone. You have never been alone.

 

Crisis Text Line: 741-741 to text with a trained Crisis Counselor. The service is free, confidential and available 24/7.

An Open Letter to Friends and Family Who Have Never Suffered From Depression:

Today I’m depressed. I’m not just sad. I’m stay in bed, there’s no hope sad. Otherwise known as depression.

Sometimes you will say to me, “yeah, I know how it is to be sad”. I know you mean well. Of course you know sadness. We all do. But depression is so much more than just sadness. And I hope you never understand this completely.

Depression is like being in a beautiful yard with a big hole in the middle. You walk around the hole and are sad because your yard is temporarily ruined. It’s an inconvenience, an eyesore. But you will fill the hole and your yard will be beautiful again.

I, on the other hand, walk around the same hole, but I fall in. The hole is much deeper than it appears. And then it starts to rain and the hole fills quickly. I am barely able to hold my head above the muddy water.

When you are sad, you sometimes say you feel blue. When I’m depressed the world is void of all color. No rainbows exist for me. There is no gold.

But you have a two healthy boys who love you, a husband who would do anything for you, and a beautiful house, you say. What have you got to be depressed about?

Nothing and everything. Yes, my life is full of wonderful people, and I am blessed to have the comforts that I do. I know that. But my depression couldn’t care less.

Depression, while often triggered by life’s hardships, can just as easily be triggered by nothing. And, let me tell you, that is the worst kind. Because when people ask me what’s wrong and I answer, I don’t know. The look I get says it all. They just don’t get it.

You might want to fix it – help me. And that would be incredible if it was that easy. But it isn’t. Depression runs its course, no matter how much I am loved. It doesn’t care.

Then why are you smiling and going about your day? Good question. Those of us who are depressed, often have to learn how to exist in two worlds simultaneously – the world of normalcy and the world of darkness that we have learned to mask when necessary.

Believe me when I tell you, we can smile with the best of them. We can crack jokes, show up when needed and act the part of happy camper most of the time. What you don’t know is that inside, we are not there. We are on auto-pilot. Inside we are counting the minutes until we can be alone, until we can give in to the darkness, because we know that the only way out is through.

But aren’t you on anti-depressants? Yes, I am. I’m so good at being depressed that I’m on two different ones.

Then why are you still depressed? The medicine is not a cure. It’s a damper. It tends to make the episodes shorter. If I wasn’t on medication we’d be on season 49 of this show. Honestly, I’m not sure I’d be here. Yes, it’s gotten that bad before.

When I’m depressed, I feel lost. I drift aimlessly through the days without purpose or motivation.

When I’m depressed I am Atlas, the weight of the world making every movement a monumental effort.

When I’m depressed I just want it to be over. It’s exhausting. Depression sucks all of the life out of any given moment.

And it happens in a blink moment. This morning I was fine. Tonight as I write this the light is dimming and my dreams are too.

So next time I tell you I’m depressed, just know that all I need from you is compassion and understanding. I need to know that you know I’m not being dramatic or looking for attention. I need you to know that I have a mental illness, and I’m trying not to let it define me.

Mostly what I need you to know that I’m in here. Don’t forget that. I’m still me. And I will be back.

Sincerely,
Ginger

Scars

Memories.

We all have them. Some are good. Some are bad. Some we wish we could forget. Others we’d give just about anything to remember.

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Daddy, me, Momma and Davey

In my case, the memories that seem to have been cemented in my mind, are those that I wouldn’t necessarily want to forget, because they have formed parts of me. But I’d trade them in a heartbeat if I could get my childhood ones back. My memories begin the night my dad had a massive heart attack when I was 10 years old.

The only thing I can figure is that because that was such a traumatic night – followed by 10 years of daddy being sick – I have somehow developed reverse post-traumatic stress disorder, and blocked the good stuff. I always have been one to do things my own way.

Is it that when something ends badly, that negates, in our minds, all the good that happened prior to the bad event?

Bad memories are like scar tissue in the mind. If you leave them alone long enough, they will heal. Given the right medicine – patience, time, forgiveness – they will, not go away, but will sink down. The perfect storm might cause a small flare up, a dull ache. But, for the most part, they remain buried.

But if you pick at them, fuss over them, the healing process never happens. And you’re left with a nasty scar, that is subject to infection. Every time you pick at it, the resulting scar is thicker and thicker – layer after layer of scar tissue building up until the memory is almost unrecognizable from how it began.

Over the years, I’ve gotten to know my mother’s childhood through stories. And because we are so close, those stories are burned into my heart. Feelings of abandonment and anger. Broken trust and broken hearts. I’ve heard these stories time and time again, and they have never gotten easier to accept. This beautiful soul opening up to me over a cup of instant coffee, pouring out all that has brewed inside of her for so long. Releasing the stories to me was never cathartic for her, and watching her talk was just like watching that little girl inside of her fighting to be heard by someone. So I listen. And listen again.

I’ve always told her – and it’s easy for me to say because they aren’t my memories – to let it go. To move forward. But her scars are way too deep, and thickened by a lifetime of picking.

Many of these memories have removed her from her family for years. Not wanting to face her past, she pushed it away time and time again. Her stories settled into me and removed me her family as well. I have an entire family on her side that I have never really known. I never gave that much thought, until today.

My mom’s sister, my Aunt Colleen, came into town for a visit today. It’s been ten years since my mother has seen her, and thirty years since I have seen her. Recently, they rekindled their bond as sisters. Stories were shared, memories revisited, truths revealed.

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Momma and her sister

Some of the memories, thickened by time, were not a perfect representation of actual events. Many memories were simply those based on the perspective of a little girl lost in the shuffle – moved from one family member to another, for reasons that, in her mind, always came from a place of rejection and lack of love.

It’s hard to imagine that there are several perspectives on a story, when that story happened to you. What you saw, what you felt, what you heard, oftentimes isn’t what the other person saw, felt and heard. Sometimes motives become misunderstood, and, often skewed based on past feelings and experiences.

All memories deserve a place in our minds because they are the glue that holds us together and connects us to our tribes – those we love and those we have issues with. But we have to know when to file them away and lock the drawer. Otherwise we become estranged from our tribe – even the ones that we love. And when that happens, although we think it’s helping us to feel in control and put together, it does nothing but tear us apart inside and out.