Never underestimate the power of dreams

Originally published in Six Word Memoirs

When your childhood foundation is built on quicksand, there’s an emotional deficit that’s hard to measure. Even as adults, after we somehow climb our way out from the murky depths of feeling less than, there’s residual damage – a poisonous venom coursing through our insides, sloshing around our psyche – whispering “don’t even try”, “you’re not good enough”, and “you don’t matter.”

The amount of therapy one needs to overcome childhood abuse (in any form) varies, but for me, ever since I got clean from a fifteen-year drug habit, it’s on-going. Weekly visits to my mental-health guru are what save me from the darkest parts of myself; when re-wiring my brain seems impossible and those venomous words seep in.

Recognizing achievements, forgiving my failures – allowing the ebb and flow of life without

Christine Macdonald

“Not my kid”

When you wake up remembering vivid details of a dream, it’s enough to make you think. If in this dream, a friend who has passed on decides to show up, you hit snooze and close your eyes, willing yourself to drift back.sarasf

I hate that I learned about Sara’s passing through Facebook. That I let years go by without staying in better touch. How we both fueled our addictions for over a decade, and neither one of us stopped to actually talk about why. We knew the other was fucked up and had a story – but with every pill, chopped-up line and shot glass, we pacified our pain.

Last night’s dream was so real, it was like no time had passed.

Sara and I met just out of high school. We were in our early twenties and already veteran party-girls, which means our drug use kicked off before the ink on our high school diplomas could dry.

High school. Drugs? Not my kid!

As I’ve said before back in March, it’s pretty easy to fool mom and dad. Most parents don’t see

Christine Macdonald