Jeannie Riseman, a name known throughout the survivor community of Ritual Abuse, Mind Control and Torture is an activist, survivor, speaker, and author. And most importantly, let us not forget mother and grandmother. She is the former editor (1999-2008) of the Survivorship Journal and bi-monthly Survivorship Notes. The Notes contain updated news and a list of conferences, plus a calendar of difficult dates. The Journal consists of articles, poems, book reviews, and artwork. Jeannie hosts her own website (www.ra-info.org) for survivors, supporters, and professionals with an extensive annotated bibliography, including websites, resources, and a FAQ in seven different languages. She moderates the Survivorship (www.survivorship.org) message boards, which have helped shape the healing paths for many survivors. Finally, Jeannie has recently set up a series of Webinars for Survivorship, bringing survivors together in a conference atmosphere without ever having to leave their home. It is my pleasure to have the opportunity to interview Jeannie as an addition to my website, the DS. (www.dissociatedsurvivor.com). Read the rest of this entry »
This month Beaky flushed out a great website on Safety, in particular, cyberspace safety and our abusers, a topic never far from my mind in these times of technological advances.
Next month we will be adding an article to the DS on safety. Are we ever really safe from our abusers? How can we increase our safety net? Beaky’s pick of the month addresses this issue, taking it a step further and examining cyberspace safety. Without our knowledge how safe are we from our abusers on the internet where anyone’s history is a few well aimed key strokes away. Our abusers who told us repeatedly we could never get away and who would go to great lengths to continue their predatory watch over us. Fort Refuge.com (http://www.fortrefuge.com/) discusses a whole realm of survivor issues including safety.
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The sudden loss of a friends cat
Dear Maverick:
Your unexpected passing has left people shocked as we try to contemplate, the suddenness of your departure into your next life. Your were a son, friend, teacher and buddy.
We will always have the stories of your time with us and as life continues these will be a part of us, as were you. We also celebrate your life.
Not too long ago while visiting your mom and dad I was able to witness first hand the love they had for you. As we took in an early summer’s day, your poor mom jumped up and down all afternoon untangling your leash from yet another tree, or branch, or rock, or anything that was capable of slowing you down. As you chowed down on grass, you wove in and out, basking in the sun, being the wanderer you so loved.
And being this wanderer reminds me of a story not too long ago as nature beckoned you to her. The door leading to the great outdoors was your escape route so many times to unsuspecting visitors or mom and dad with laden hands.
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This is Part 2 of the incredible gift Highway gave me. She will be with me for the rest of time and every month on the 25th I remember our time together and am thankful for those years.
The saying, “We always hurt the ones we love,” is a part of nature and so rang true for Highway. At the age of 8, Highway, who had a fearless and boundless energy and could outlast me, refused to go on walks and jump from the car to her sandy beach. My mind on inconsequential matters, refused to see what was evident; Highway had changed and not for the best. It took me two days to realize this. I will always live with the guilt of her being in pain for what should have been zero days.
I spent the rest of her life making up for this indiscretion. Full of love and joy, she was spoiled and lived many years beyond what even her vet could surmise. He would tell me, “I can’t believe she is still alive and walking. Whatever you are doing, keep doing it—it is working.” It wasn’t work for me; Highway made it very easy to care for and love her.
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“They won’t wake up,” a voice crackled over the airwaves.
The air once electrified, suddenly, deadened in silence.
“The GPS reads the warehouse district, Mytch,” Matt spoke. He began buckling the special footwear for Boots, my Labrador. Unlike the country club last night, where we were heading needles potentially puncturing my otherwise unprotected rescue dog’s feet would be found by the gross.
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