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This area is reserved for the tidbits I know hope will be of interest to my readers. Check back often for regular updates. 


Check out this article about the Fifty Shades of Grey phenomena, including a list of organizations which strongly oppose this sick trend, and have implemented various means of helping women who have been sexually victimized.


Were you raised by a narcissist? Chances are you were if you suffered any form of childhood abuse. The Little Red Survivor website is filled with excellent articles examining the many faces of narcissism.


It's been a long time coming---7 years to be exact---but finally email notifications for new BD posts is available. Sign up today and never again miss another post. You know you want to!













Kate Is Rising has an excellent Survivors Resources page which directs you to numerous websites dealing with issues of abuse, healing and recovery. Please bear in mind that the information on these pages may be triggering.



There's lots of good stuff at the Dissociation Blog Showcase, including a list of 180 blogs dealing with some aspect of this disorder. 



On the Overcoming Sexual Abuse site there's an article entitled, "It's Not About You Mom" which I could have written myself. I bet many of my readers could say the same!








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Main | Losing My Religion, Part 1 »

Strawberry Fields Forever

Strawberry picking is a miserable means of earning money to supplement my meager allowance—but it gets me out of the house a good portion of the day. Bent over the rows like a hunchback, I suffer first from the cold (for though it’s summer, mornings take a while to warm up to the day), and then from the unrelenting sun focusing all its attention on my fair scalp, finding its way down my shirt and up my nostrils so that I feel faint, in danger of suffocation.

My hands ache and some days, in a fit of retaliation at wasting my summer in such a stupid, hard pastime, I eat as many berries as I pick.

The new radio I got for Christmas, a bigger version of the transistor I listen to in bed at night, helps me stave off boredom. My across-the-street best friend Bec and I, sing loudly (off key) to the top 40. When that gets old I amuse her with my bad imitation of Klink from Hogan’s Heroes: call her dumbkoff! and goose step down the long row, turning about-face abruptly and clicking my heels together, while smartly tucking a ratty old walking stick under my armpit. When we are chastised for goofing off by Mrs. J, our bus driver, I whisper in broken German to her receding form, “I see nothink! Nothink!”

Normally too shy to stray beyond the shady trees surrounding the outskirts of the woods, one day during my 12th summer a spirit of boldness overtakes me, propelling me deep into the cool woods, where I know the older kids hang out during lunch break.

“Hey! Where’re you going?” Bec calls after me. I throw her a look over my shoulder, take note of her puzzled expression, and shrug.

“C’mon, man,” she cries. I don’t understand the pleading tone to her voice.

Off to my left, a boy yells, “Hey, better not come any closer unless you wanna get raped!”

This is followed by guffaws and much snickering all around me, and hearty agreement from the others lurking invisibly in the woods. I stop in my tracks, sensing danger.

“What’s ‘rape’ mean?” I holler out, much to their delight.

Suddenly I am propelled backwards by the scruff of my neck, and Bec is hissing at me to shut up.

I twirl around so fast to break free of her grasp that we stumble into one another, and nearly bump heads like 2 stooges.

“What!” I am so furious with her for embarrassing me like that in front of these kids that I want to smack her for the first time in our friendship.

“Don’t be stupid.” Her eyes, unaccountably, fill with tears.

What,” I repeat. “Why did you drag me away like that?”

She averts her gaze, staring off into the distance. “Because of what those boys wanted to do to you,” she says in a quiet voice.

To a background of inane cat calls fueled by my aborted trek into the woods, Bec explains the definition of the word ‘rape.’

Oh. The one 4 letter word my step-dad never taught me.

Reader Comments (2)

This deserved a comment. I have no idea what to put, but I guess that's not so bad. Just wanted you to know I had read this, absorbed this, and appreciated this. I don't think there is anything anyone can say, right?

Lola x

April 26, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterLola Snow

You're right, there really isn't any comment to be made, but I appreciate your letting me know you read and appreciated this post!

April 28, 2010 | Registered Commenterbeautifuldreamer

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