I have been battling bipolar depression for my entire life. I was raised in an alcoholic and very dysfunctional family. It was like living in a war zone. You think the war in Afghanistan is bad – try living in my house for one day.

My mother was an abusive alcoholic and we did not know it at the time she also had bipolar disorder. We did not find out until she was admitted to an Alzheimer’s unit along with my father.

My father – where was he you ask? He was either working, was hiding behind the newspaper, or shut down emotionally at the dinner table. The dinner table was where all the volatile action happened. A daughter was pitted against daughter and it is a miracle that we are still speaking to one another.

Now that I have painted that picture of home life, I can tell you how I got out. I started going to Alanon meetings and then to A.A. meetings even though I did not have much of a drinking problem. I left home for good eventually never to return. I ended up in a homeless shelter for a while but then I had my own place.

It has not been easy. I have had to make several trips to the psychiatric hospital a few times, but I am okay. I will with the grace of a God of my understanding graduate with a master’s degree in creative writing which I did online one class at a time. I am a survivor and thrives.



The Dream

The dream I had was early Wednesday morning. I dreamed I was in an antiques store and all the stuff I had growing up was there. The radio my grandfather or my mother’s father I saw and I could see all the history or meaning that it had for me. I could see all the times I had listened to it growing up and all the time he had spent refurbishing it came to mind. I could see grandma’s rocker and all the times I had rocked in that rocker.


I went throughout the store and gathered things in my hands and handed it to my mother or the person in charge of the store. I saw that it turned into FaithWorks store and Joyce was in charge and all the antiques had their own story to tell. As I sat in the store which resembled a house I saw the wind blow outside as the whole house moved along as if time was passing as the wind blew. I then thought of Virginia Woolfe and in her book To the Lighthouse she showed the passage of time in the rain and the wind and the effect on the house. Out here in West Texas, it is the wind not the rain or the storms seem to mark the passage of time.