My Journey

Again, it’s been a while since I blogged, a sign that things have been tough and challenging. And it really has been. I will write about that another time.

My sister died of sepsis on 27 09 18.  I am devastated. I am in mourning as I’ve never known to mourn before. If one reels with shock, I am reeling. If one limps from loss of a shoe, I am limping. If there is an icy wind, I am freezing. I cannot express my loss. I am overwhelmed.

A week later, my dog died. He had not been himself for some weeks. I am lost without him. The cottage feels empty, there is no sound of him running up the stairs, taking a drink, pulling out his box of toys. He is not resting his head on my knee, not giving my nose a kiss, not snuggling up to me. I can’t feel his breath behind my neck,  hear his yawn, or feel his paw pat me until I tickle him.

I am empty.


Poem published by Anti-Heroin Chic…/i-want-dark-by-chrissie…

I Want Dark

having opened my skull
they poked in my brain
four times
once a nurse fainted when
the bandages came off
the fourth time I lost it
screamed my lungs out
before I flatlined
it went dark

the third one took my voice
I was silent for two months
and spent six years getting
my speech back
it still disappears
when I’m tired or raped
living seems too hard
I want dark

my body was unable to move
they didn’t know where
I should be
a cleaner saved me by smiling
hello till I replied
then mumbled
mostly dark
Chrissie Morris Brady lives




Two Poems published in Ariel Chart



Air fails

to fill my lungs.

I drag, as if on

a cigarette,

but can’t achieve

the hit



The Clock


Waking, I turn

3am glows fluorescently.

Time of the night rounds, my

wrist taken by a nurse,

noted in torchlight.

I was never sleeping.


I would close my eyes


Other nights I knew my thirst

would be quenched

by the offer of the beaker, held

so that I could chase away

dust that had gathered, dry.

3am embossed my mind.

Common time for dying,

a crisis, running sound

of night staff.
Chrissie Morris Brady





5 Signs of Codependency — MakeItUltra™

By Dr. Perry, PhD “A lot of the time codependency looks like intense love, but “needing” another person often stems from fear, not love.” ~Jennifer Kass 1. You feel like you will die without the other person The first time I ever experienced what I would call true love, I began to think about my […]

via 5 Signs of Codependency — MakeItUltra™

How To Enjoy Life: 10 Ways To Stop Running After Happiness And Finally Find What Feels Good Now — Thought Catalog

If you were to ask, many people would undoubtedly agree that they believe the purpose of life is to enjoy it. However, so many people struggle to be present and actually experience their lives as they are. The culprits are varied, and can include everything from unrealistic expectations to trying too hard to feel good…

via How To Enjoy Life: 10 Ways To Stop Running After Happiness And Finally Find What Feels Good Now — Thought Catalog

Train Wreck

A while ago, my ex-husband decided my daughter and I needed space from each other. It had been tense for various reasons. I asked him where she would go and he told me a friend’s home. I thought it more likely that she would go to her boyfriend’s home, an idea that filled me with dread and made my flesh crawl.

I tried to pretend that she was at a friend’s. My ex would meet her sometimes for coffee and relay snippets to me. ‘I love being alone’ she apparently said. So my ex said she’s not with her boyfriend then, he probably gives her no space. My hops soared. He could be right. I hardly dared to believe it. Then he told me she would come home yesterday. I asked my ex to get flowers for her room. I asked that we wait for her to arrive before our dinner yesterday evening.

No sign of my daughter. She never arrived and never will. She has made her home with her boyfriend’s family, and relations are not good. My ex then decides to tell me she had said she felt as though she’d been kicked out. My heart broke. I am devastated. This boyfriend and his father have caused me so much anguish over the years. The father answers my phone call and puts the phone to the radio. He hands notes addressed to him to his son. My daughter was under 18 when they started going out, but the crass father, Sean Downes thought she was an adult. She was not.

I am beyond despair, I am in hell. My daughter, whom I raised alone, invested every emotion in, love as much as life itself has thrown me away with the help of my wretched ex husband. I wish I never met him.



Creative-Commons As (unqualified) Acts of Love By James Diaz

Left Out In The Cold: A Journal


In the first chapter of Ranceire’s Sentiments, Davide Panagia outlines Partager/sharing and the subtle ways in which Ranciere approaches politics through a sentimental reading and writing. Sentimental, often used as a disparaging comment, as in one who is too sentimental, here comes to define a way of reading and sensing that has less to do with any natural drawn lines of distinction, origin, or absolute narrative and more to do with what resonates, contrasted with the seemingly natural but arbitrary make up of divisions and specificities (well ordered systems of knowledge and representation) we find a more anarchic sentiment at play.

Of Ranciere’s notions of mediation and in-betweenness, Panagia writes that:

[his] theory of radical mediation requires that the terms of relation not be treated as transcendental and immobile but as elements or parts of a kinematic arrangement. The point is a classically sentimental one: it is not…

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