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I’m Rebelling Now My Caregiver Says | Message From The Archives Circa Fall 2015

These are writings I found recently, from the period of my life where I was abused by the person who was my only access to care then.

Through the years, writing has been my outlet. There are times I don’t have memory of due to my chronic illness and PTSD, and there are many times I can’t remember due to seizures and FND … So sometimes written on paper scraps, or odd pages I stumble across in my archives that shares a moment in time … and that I don’t remember writing.

This one here, is one of those I just discovered two days ago.

Eve Reiland

Fall 2005

I am the secret keeper. When asked if I can keep one, I want to laugh. Of course I can. I’m keeping secrets now as we stand, talk and you ponder the emotional drift of life, what hurts and heals.

Chances are I already know the answers to how to survive the particular pain that overwhelms. Not that I’m going to share.

Sounds cruel, but it is not. The Golden Rule I’ve found is life hands you your ass if you discover the answer. You will repeat the cycle. So no, I won’t tell you what I think it is.. I also won’t’ judge and won’t share. That’s my talent.

Curious no one asks what makes a person good at keeping confidences.


I’m rebelling now, she says. I’ve been rebelling since the doctor’s office visit and I saw what he wrote on my paper. Saw that he wrote I was not capable of parenting my children.

Saw that it was possible that I needed protective custody. I don’t need protective custody. I’m mental, but not that mental. At least not today. Because she didn’t push me over the edge today.

I can think better, find that grip and track time.

Instinct says to hide. Hide. I’m clicking with power today. Clicking with understanding. Hide realization, comprehension and intelligence behind the seizure wall.

The exhausted, blank face that shows I’m skippin’ beats. Smile. Grin. Crack a joke. Suspicion will give in. Sleep will come at ten.

That’s when I’m allowed to toss back trazadon, proasin and whatever else that is going down my gullet to oblivion. If insomnia allows.  If I’m allowed.

By Eve Reiland

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