memoir

My blue trunk

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When I was a child, there was an old blue steamer trunk in my bedroom. I used it like a bedside table, but usually just stored my stuffed animals on it. I wasn’t allowed to open it .. it was big enough that I could’ve gotten closed into it, so it was always locked.

Every now and then my mom would open the trunk and she and I would go through the contents. The trunk held my baby things. Tiny dresses, cloth books, baby toys, rattle, dish, cup, spoon, stuffed animals. I was able to convince my mom to let me have the stuffed animals to play with, but everything else just stayed tucked away in the trunk.

The trunk made it seem almost like my babyhood lived in my room with me.

I never knew the history of the trunk. I think it was my mom’s, originally, but I don’t know for sure.

Anyway, a few weeks ago I had someone come by and cart away things to the dump. One of the things that left my house was the trunk. It had stayed with me my entire life, eventually serving as storage for Christmas decorations. It lived out in my shed where the damp and cold eventually rusted and rotted the trunk.

The day the trunk was taken away, I just felt relief to get rid of things. Now, I feel like I should’ve taken a moment to sit with the trunk. To thank it for a lifetime of storing my special things. It wasn’t until the next day when I realized how important that trunk had been and how I’d let it go with giving it proper regard.

So this little post is my salute to the blue steamer trunk. You know, I don’t even have a photo of that trunk. It’d always been such a fixture in my life, I don’t think I really saw it anymore.

Goodbye blue trunk. You served me well.

Summer Camp Refuge

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When I decided to take a little Personal Retreat last month, I’d been reading the book Something More by Sarah ban Breathnach. She was stressing that one of the first steps for getting in touch with your authentic self was to revisit favorite places and events of your childhood.

I found myself thinking about the horse camp, Flying Horseshoe Ranch, that I went to every summer from age eight to fifteen. Suddenly a lightbulb went off in my head and I decided to take several days of my upcoming vacation time to stay at Flying Horseshoe, which had now become a guest ranch and was no longer a kids’ camp. What better way to get in touch with an important place from my childhood than to go back and immerse myself in that very place.

Flying Horseshoe was important to me for a couple of reasons. Mainly two. 1) Horses. Definitely the most important reason, and 2) lack of bullies.

I was the victim of some serious bullying at my school. Physical beatings. Verbal abuse. Molestation. I would come home from school in tears and with bruises all over my body, and my mother’s response was, “Oh, kids will be kids. Just ignore them.” It was me against an entire group of about ten kids who were all bigger and stronger than me. Somehow the school was unware of what was happening, or if they knew, they did nothing.

Anyway, I didn’t mean go off on a tangent.  Back to camp.

I felt safe there. I had friends. I found myself in leadership positions. People treated each other kindly. The few incidents of bullying that I was aware of were dealt with swiftly, and the perpetrators were sent home.

While growing up, I always felt like I could be my most authentic self at camp. I wasn’t afraid. I could speak up without fear of ridicule. I could live out my love of horses without kids making fun of me. So it was interesting being back at Flying Horseshoe as an adult. So many memories. And I found myself wondering how to get in touch with that girl who was confident and funny and competent and courageous and a leader and graceful. None of those are words I would really use to describe myself now. So much “life” has happened and torn me down from the best version of myself.

I’m not sure how to bring that earlier version of myself back into the light. Or maybe add those attributes into my current life. But having some time to be quiet and thoughtful at the place of refuge of my childhood was interesting and gave me a great deal of food for thought.

What places from your past may hold secrets to your authentic self? You can’t know what memories will be triggered if you reacquaint yourself with who you once were.

the packing list

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I know from experience how to pack a bag for a suicidal hospital stay so I keep a packed bag (no straps, strings, belts) and leave it in my car “just in case” because my therapist may decide I’m not safe and need to check in to the psych ward (again) where there will be laundry facilities so I’ll only need to pack enough clothes for two or three days since doing laundry will be somewhat therapeutic

so I pack
two or three t-shirts, comfortable
sweat pants or leggings, can double as jammies with a t-shirt
no cords
no belts
no strings
slip-on shoes, no shoelaces
hairbrush and/or comb
blank journal, not wire-bound
several pens
warm sweater or hoody, no strings
slippers
socks
phone and charger, will be kept at the front desk
travel-size toiletries, they’ll have shampoo but no conditioner
toothbrush/toothpaste
a soft blanket, for wrapping up in when the anxiety kicks in or my roommate starts screaming at 3am and the sleeping meds aren’t working and they won’t give out more
a stuffed toy or soft pillow, for hugging while crying myself to sleep

my therapist asks, “What do you mean that you’re packed for the hospital? How do you pack ahead for a psych hospital stay?”
I will show him this list