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I spent some time in the basement today trying to dig out my art supplies.  In the middle of my art is a lot of old writing from years ago.  For all the years I have such a hard time remembering I have written my own words along the way to bring me back. They are like crumbs in a fairytale forest.   But like crumbs in a storm most of the papers are mixed together at this point. They are disheveled at best from move after move after move and not quite being able to part with what I’ve known is sometimes the only clues for me to my history to put together when I have the chance.

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I got the iPhone 4S today.  I discovered it has a voice activated text/email feature by accident when I inadvertently came upon old writings in the basement. I stopped and began to speak my story into an email to my therapist.  It might be the first time I’ve ever used my writing voice for the spoken word.   I went to that place where the past meets the present and let it breathe. It was just a small start, but it was a start.     When I realized there was a microphone in front of me and not just a keypad the possibilities of what healing might look like opened up to another level.

Empowerment to sing my song.

I have a hard time hearing myself.  If I only write I can stay somewhat dissociated from the content. After all, I have boxes and boxes of writing, but still haven’t integrated it into my existence.  But to hear myself is closer to really listening…and listening is a fingertip away from being real.

And being real is a heartbeat away from opening up to the world and to life.