Fragments of Memory

Reconstructing a trauma story one page at a time

Dear Friend

How are you feeling today? Have you enjoyed a productive week? Where did it go, eh?

Now that I’ve committed to writing my book here on Substack twice a week, Friday does seem to creep up on me rather quickly.

In a weird and wonderful way, I’ve rather enjoyed my first attempt of writing my new book to a live audience. Writing about a past trauma using a variety of therapeutic journaling prompts as my mental health stabilisers, has undoubtedly, given me the confidence to push on through.

So I best carry on with the storytelling.

I’ve promised not to overthink or worry about what to write, I’ll just let the pen do the work.

If you missed my Monday newsletter, the first part of my trauma story, you can read it here From Wreckage To Recovery

This is the next memory that follows…

My body was back in motion. Moving along on a new set of wheels. Positioned the correct way up, well at least I hoped I was. It wasn’t until the wheelchair I was travelling in, passed a skinny, long length mirror, in slow motion, that I realised I was sat upright. Relief drained from my hunched over shoulders, I was no longer prized between broken windshield glass, crumpled metal, and what felt like a steering wheel wrapped around my neck. Those kind men with the yellow helmets stuck to their word, they got me out.