Done reading STILL ME. This is an inspiring autobiography of Christopher Reeve before his death in 2004. The highlight of the book is his experiences after a horse accident in 1995. The said accident resulted to paralysis and changed his life upside-down. One time he comes back still wearing his foul weather gear, and he has to hide it in the hospital room closet because the nurses are going to wonder where it came from. Now his wife and family, his wife and children, have been very distressed all along because, since he became paralyzed, he has not been able to pull out of a serious depression.
- 'The world needs Emma Hansen's beautiful memoir. Still creates a window into the heartbreaking experience of letting go of a precious child, and gives permission to integrate him with love into the fabric of a family.' -Anna Whiston-Donaldson, author of Rare Bird 'Still is an exceptionally authentic story of love and loss. As a grief therapist.
- I'm so glad others will now be able to learn from her in her newest memoir, Still Life. With her signature honesty and real-life faith, Gillian reminds us that God meets us in the hard, often debilitating places. For those who suffer from depression or those who love others that do, this book is a treasured story that articulates life and faith.
Chapter 1
A few months after the accident I had an idea for a short film about a quadriplegic who lives in a dream. During the day, lying in his hospital bed, he can't move, of course. But at night he dreams that he's whole again, and is able to do anything and go everywhere. This is someone who had been a lifelong sailor, and who had always loved the water, and he had a beautiful gaff-rigged sloop. Not like my boat, the Sea Angel, which was modern and made of fiberglass. In the story the boat is a great old wooden beauty, whose varnish gleams in the moonlight.
In his dream he sails down the path of a full moon, and there's a gentle breeze, perfect conditions-the kind of romantic night sailing that anyone can imagine. But by seven in the morning, he's back in his bed in the rehab hospital and everything is frozen again.
The dream is very vivid. And as time passes it becomes even more vivid. At first it's just a dream, and he recognizes it as such. But suddenly one night he finds himself actually getting out of bed and leaving the hospital, fully aware of walking down the corridor and out the door, then into the boat, which, magically, is anchored not far away. And he gets on board and goes sailing, long into the night and the moonlight. Soon these voyages become so real to him that when he wakes up in his bed at seven in the morning, his hair is soaked. And the nurse comes in and says, 'Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't dry your hair enough last night when I gave you a shampoo. You slept with wet hair.' He says nothing, but he's thinking that his hair is wet from the spray when he was out on the water.
One time he comes back still wearing his foul weather gear, and he has to hide it in the hospital room closet because the nurses are going to wonder where it came from. Now his wife and family, his wife and children, have been very distressed all along because, since he became paralyzed, he has not been able to pull out of a serious depression. He has shut them out of his life. His children are afraid of him because he is not himself and they don't know how to be with him, and his wife has been talking to the doctors and the psychologists at the hospital about what to do because he is apparently unable to cope or to come out of his shell.
But as he continues to go sailing in his dreams and as these dreams become more and more real, his mood begins to improve and he seems less withdrawn. In the mornings he is more content and much more communicative. His wife notices the change, but she can't understand it, and he won't explain it. It's not something that he can talk about. He's not sure if he's going crazy. He thinks that he may be losing his mind. But since the family is feeling the benefit of his improvement, his dreams are making their life together happier.
He sails in Tenants Harbor, or a similarly idyllic spot in Maine, and there's a fellow there, an older man, who always turns on the light in his cabin down by the water when our man is sailing. He doesn't sleep very well, and he always gets up to watch the younger man go out in the wooden boat. Sometimes he comes down to his dock, and we can tell from the yearning in his eyes that the sailboat is something he loves and admires. Not that he's jealous, but he never misses a chance to see the boat sailing so beautifully in the moonlight. Well, there comes a time when our protagonist realizes that these voyages offer a way of escaping from his paralyzed condition, that he could just sail and sail on happily-it's what he loves most in the world-until one night he would go out into the middle of the ocean, and he wouldn't take supplies or anything. He would just sail until he dropped. And he would die happy. He would just go sailing down the path of the moon, as far as he possibly could go, and leave everything and everyone behind him.
Use of this excerpt from Still Me by Christopher Reeve may be made only for purposes of promoting the book, with no changes, editing, or additions whatsoever, and must be accompanied by the following copyright notice: Copyright© 1998 by Christopher Reeve. All rights reserved
© The Mighty Photo of the author’s memoir, “Starving” standing up on a blue backgroundIf you have been struggling with mental illness for a while like I have, you probably have heard repeatedly that you should write down your feelings. I did this. I did this when I started purging every day before school at age 10. I have three huge storage boxes of journals.
Did it help?
I’m not sure. I was completely alone in my deteriorating world. My friends didn’t understand, and my parents offered me Bible verses instead of an appointment with a good therapist. I locked myself in my room for most of my teenage years and sometimes my only source of comfort was a blank page.
Fast-forward and I am 43, a mom of three and still struggling with anxiety and depression. I have been medicated for the past 10 years and go to therapy weekly. I am in charge of my own mental health and you know what I do for comfort on a Sunday when I feel that debilitating anxiety creeping into my gut? I write. And what did I do when we locked our doors a year ago to quarantine while people around us were dying? I sat on the corner of my bed and wrote. I wrote and wrote and wrote.
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I always knew I was going to write a memoir, tell my story so others could see it, could see me. I tried to write it years ago, but the story had not cured. It was not ready, probably because I was not ready. But, when COVID-19 came and we were all in this mess, the boat, wondering if any of us would survive, I finally wrote my memoir.
I started at the beginning. I started by talking about how much fear I had in the house with my mother who was so vacant, only to find out later she had undiagnosed borderline personality disorder (BPD). I always thought she just found me disgusting. I wrote about the evangelical church I went to every week and the exorcisms and the speaking in tongues. And I wrote about the private, Christian school where they paddled my friends, duct-taped our mouths shut and tied us to the chairs if we got up too often.
All these things contributed to feelings of hopelessness and thoughts of self-harm. When I had my daughter, I found new courage. I put up healthy boundaries with my mother who was still trying to insert her will into my life. Yelling at her in the middle of my yard was the climax of my story — the point in which I said, “No more.” After that moment, I knew I had to fight for my health like my life depended on it. And it did. I had two more children, a husband and a life to fight for.
Crossword Clue Still Me Memoirist
Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m not still struggling, waking up frozen or crying on the bathroom floor when I’m triggered, but I have gotten up and fought before, and I know I will again. Writing a memoir, my story, has released me from the prison. I feel like I have landed on the shores of the promised land; I have survived. The writing itself offered me clarity. The publishing and offering to friends is to show my vulnerability and quest for connection. But, most of all, it is holding a solid object, words describing my side of the story without interruption. For so much of my life, I felt misunderstood.
Still Me Memoirist
Now, I stand in the light and say, this is how it was for me. My memoir is not reactionary, it is just my truth. I feel as though I can take in a breath for the first time in my life. I don’t have to live as the shy, fearful girl. I can live in the freedom I built for myself.
“Starving: A Memoir” by Christen Bensten is now available on Amazon.