ReRunning & Writing

**Strong Language** I’ve been thinking about color quite a bit lately. I have spent many years wearing dull, drab clothing and no makeup. No hair color. I started dyeing my hair again during quarantine, and I am really enjoying playing around with weird colors. Why not? I just don’t care anymore. I have spent so long worrying about people thinking I am weird, and they do anyway. So, I’m just going to exist and enjoy myself now.  So, let’s talk about colors because I want them back in my daily life. Until very recently, orange was my favorite color and had been since I was a teenager. It represented my grandmother to me - the weird one who was always nicer to me than the rest of my extended family. She used to crochet gifts for everyone every Christmas. She had four kids and a multitude of grandkids, and everyone had a color scheme. Mine was brown and green and yellow and orange. Everyone else made fun of it, but honestly, I loved the colors. They are still my favorites to this day. And

  *Strong language warning ~~~~~~~ Tap, tap, tap.   Therapy is insistent. The slow, consistent chipping away at the solid walls around me. Walls I believed until very recently to be impenetrable. But, now there are small fissures in the stone. Tiny places of weakness. Of escape. Things are beginning to slip out. The pressure is too much, and I can’t hold them in any longer. The things I have held for years that are not really mine to carry. The amount of shit I was expected to handle as a child is astounding. It took so long, but I see it now. How fucked up it was. Seeing my perceived weaknesses as what they really are - responses to trauma and ways to stay safe - it really cuts deep. I was taught to doubt my own mind. My emotions. The things I could feel were off even when I was told everything was just fine. My sense of self and the confidence I should have had in my choices were dismissed or mocked. These were things I needed to function safely in society. Not trusting my gut feelin

Welcome to the Brain Blep Blog. Join me in delving into the topics plaguing my exhausted brain. I am a 40 year old wife, mom, survivor of narcissistic abuse, and I have ADHD. So, as you can imagine, things in my brain can get a little wild. I've been in therapy for three years, and I have been no contact with my covert narcissistic mother for 7 months. The walls I put up in childhood are cracking, and the memories are flooding in. I now have to doubt absolutely everything from my past. I am an unreliable narrator in my own life. I am the scapegoat child and have only in the last few years begun to understand how that has affected the entirety of my existence -- so, that was a mind fuck. I'm hoping that sharing my healing journey will help someone else in a similar situation. Oh, I also like to swear and don’t believe that it is harmful or shows a lack of intelligence. I think there are far worse words that are used regularly by the public at large -- stupid, useless, a disappoi