Tag Archives: gloriaharrison

An Open Letter of Thanks to the People in My Life

On October 11th, I was standing in the Denver airport, having just spent four exhausting but incredible days writing my guts out on my memoir, Hell is for Children, in Estes Park. I’d done some intense trauma work with two other beautiful women in this process and was emotionally drained, but satisfied with the path I was on that will end in a completed manuscript.

I’d also seen a bunch of elk, which was very cool.

 

elk1

The first thing I saw when I opened the curtains in my bedroom one morning

 

That day, I’d driven around Denver and caught up with my dear friend Matt, who left Portland four years ago.

 

Matt Bauer

 

And  I finally met Megan Nico DiLullo in person after having first met on The Nervous Breakdown 7 years ago. As per the custom of our people, we had to get a photograph with fake mustaches attached to our face perineums (which is what we chose to call the divot between the nose and the upper lip).

 

mustache

 

By the time I arrived at the airport, I was spent. Ready to process the last five days of my life, but uneager to return to Real Life. After passing through security, I was watching the sky outside the windows of the airport turn dark with the approaching storm, and feeling very much like I didn’t want to return to the Pacific Northwest. I don’t mean to my children, cat, job, friends – but to the dark skies and constant drizzle. The desert is where my heart is.

 

denver sky

 

But then, as the announcement that my flight was boarding came, my phone rang. It was my son, Indigo, one of my two nearly-15-year-old twin boys. He was at Dad’s house for the week, but happened by my house to grab a warmer jacket. “Hey, mom. I just came by your house to grab something,” he said. “The backdoor is standing wide open. Do you know why?” Continue reading

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The Monsters that Come for Me in My Sleep

Inspired by NaNoWriMo, I’ve committed to finishing my memoir. Finally. After almost a decade of cogitation, percolation, and procrastination. Voice building. Muscle building. Gut building. I’ve decided to call it Hell is for Children. Because, this. I’ll have a first draft done by the end of the month and a draft ready for an agent by the end of the year.

But, my god.

The monsters are visiting me in my sleep. I’m 3 months alcohol-free, but after a long day of writing, I’ve been dreaming that I ingest opiods and red wine. I hate it, in my dreams, but I can’t get enough. I wake up in the morning with the residue of guilt and defeat on me. I get it though. I get why I drank. I get why my brain seeks it, even in my sobriety. Lidia Yuknavitch said at the Ojai retreat that “your wound is your superpower.” And if my wound is PTSD (and it is), then my superpower is this outpouring of guts and honesty in the form of structured words on a page. My voice. My muscles. Continue reading

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