Here is where it started. (<----click....)
Chemo was finished, and I felt I was, too. It was the kind of "finished" that equals "tired." And it was the kind of tired that makes your bones heavy with the weight of your ancestors' tears. I felt that kind of pain--physically, mentally--every, damn day.
My systemic scleroderma was not getting better, and neither was my outlook on all things spiritual. Then, my "second" father, Ken, urged me to start writing again. About all of it. Especially the ugly. The hurt, the shitty, the terrifying--all. of. it.
So I did.
Here is the collection of those several months' worth of getting in my self's face. And holding my self's hand. Maybe shaking my fist at God some, too, which I'm pretty convinced She/He can take. (More on problematic pronouns later...)
I'm at another time in my life where it's time to start writing again. Love. Transplant. Wedding. Retirement. LOVE. Dying. Surgeries. Legacy. Justice. Dance. Pain. Terror.
I don't know yet if I'll continue to use the Blogger interface or try out this one here on Squarespace. I'll figure it out. What I know for sure is I've just got to start speaking again.
So first, I invite you to take a look at where I've been. Browse my first blog...see what happens when mnikesa speaks.
Dr. Maya Angelou said that there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of oneself. As a patient living with/dying from system scleroderma, my daily dose of pain and agony is at best heartbreaking; at its worst, unspeakable.
Mnikesa has no need for more pain.
Mnikesa will tell her story.
This is what it looks like when MnikesaSpeaks.
Photo by Desirea Still