Surviving Soberly

By Terri Rimmer I’ve been diagnosed many things but the nickname I hate the most - “Crazy Cat Lady,” - is not one of them, though my neighbors would beg to differ. Oddly enough when I was in my 20s and writing for a small town newspaper, The Camden County Tribune, they published a column I wrote about what different lives my sister and I lead. She’s a therapist and I was the creative type, she was a neatnik and I was messy. But I also addressed the fear that I would one day grow up and be like the crazy cat lady who lived across the street from my mom and step dad at the time. Now this woman was not a Crazy Cat Lady. She was unmarried, morbidly obese, worked, single, and had two cats. But in that neighborhood there were no feral cats. You might run across a stray once in a blue moon and if one had darkened her garage door she probably would’ve fed it but no one in the 80s would’ve said a word. It was a different time. My fear of becoming the Crazy Cat Lady woun

I wake up this morning and I’m a completely different person than I was the last three days. Although I’m on five medications for bipolar disorder, depression, and anxiety, I’m exhausted, because I’ve just come off a rage roller coaster over the weekend. My hormones are out of whack and I can’t afford to go to the doctor so I just have to suffer through this. Last night someone I used to be friends with threatened to call the cops, accusing me of not taking my meds, claiming that I was harassing her when all I was doing was defending a mutual friend. I never met rage until I was 12 when the bottom fell out of my life and I had to go live with my mom and step dad after my dad finally had to answer for abusing my sisters and I. I was getting physically abused at Mom’s house then and bullied at school. The bullying actually started way before that. The only refuge was my mind – not a good place. I can remember once I started driving often times

Nov. 4, 2017 Dear McKenna: How is it possible that it’s time for your annual Thanksgiving letter again? What a year it has been! You continue to amaze me all the time and as every year passes I am in wonder of all that you are and do. Seeing you grow up as been the best gift and something I never thought I would get to have. You have such a dedication to the band and I don’t know how you do it all but I admire your persistence and how you push yourself. You have never let anything stop you in your life, no matter the obstacle and that is one of the many things I love about you. I also love seeing you dance, your sense of humor, smile, spirit, creativity, intuition, and courage. It’s hard for me not to tear up as I write this because the pride is strong when I think of you. I’m glad you know what you want to do in life as I did. In Nov. 1983 when I was 17, also your age, I can remember banging out stories and poems on the fire engine red elec

August 7, 2017 Dear McKenna: Your annual birthday letter is here once again and in eight days you’ll be turning 17. Without fail, you continue to do great things and amaze me and everyone around you. This past Christmas time was such a miracle when you no longer had to depend on using a feeding tube for the first time since you were a toddler. That was a big prayer answered! I want you to know that no matter what anxiety you ever feel on any given day that you are bigger than it and that it doesn’t subtract from who you are as a person – EVER. I know that you can overcome anything and you’ve proven it. I’m proud beyond belief of you and you are always in my thoughts, prayers, daydreams, and often – dreams. I write a lot about you because I’m inspired to do it. Your spirit, drive, and courage give me the same strength. You come from a long line of survivors who have the same attitude when it comes to not stopping and going after what you want.

Check Out the Coolest Architecture Near Dallas: By Terri Rimmer (Updated 3-24-17) I've lived in Tarrant County, Texas since 1995. Not an eternity, I realize, but long enough to have observed some really cool structures in town, ones that don't necessary make your typical popular architectural lists, but are still worthy of mention. McCool's Pub at 1700 8th Avenue on the corner used to be an AA group for many years. With its high cathedral ceilings, exposed colorful bricks, and murals painted on walls of two huge closets, it has character, to say the least. It was remodeled to accommodate the bar but has still retained its original allure. When you walked in originally there was a small sitting room and window where a phone rested. A medium-sized kitchen used to serve as a snack bar during Halloween parties and  New Year's Eve all-nighters where there would be marathon recovery meetings and the phones would be manned for Alcoholics Anonymous' Central Off

In August 1981 having spent the summer being subjected to more of my dad's sexual abuse and having kept my sister Cindy updated the whole time as to the progression of his behavior, she and I went to a church agency in hopes of getting some help. It was called AGAPE and it was a foster child placement agency where Church of Christ members take in abused and/or neglected children temporarily, sometimes leading to a permanent placement later. Although my sister and I had attended this particular church a few years earlier, we were not currently members but had no other resources at our disposal. Having made the call to Cindy that summer day telling her that things with my dad had escalated to the point where I was in fear for my life and terrified that he was going to cross the line to intercourse with me, she and I now sat in the small lobby of AGAPE and waited to talk to a counselor. Numerous pictures lined the halls and walls in the building of happy families with their ch

By Terri Rimmer I t was 35 years ago this month, two months before my sixteenth birthday my mom placed me in a juvenile delinquent home for girls which was housed in a private home in a regular neighborhood. There were five other girls besides me, all with histories of behavior problems or their parents simply didn't want them. The house at 2877 Chapel Hill Road in Douglasville, Georgia was made of cedar wood and giant Brown Recluse spiders used to hang out in the rafters outside which I found out later much to my horror. One crazy roommate I had thought it'd be cute once to put one of these creatures on my bed. The Cobb Douglas Girls Group Home, which has since been torn down to make way for a four-lane road, which I recently found out much to my pleasure, was once located on a two-lane road in a nice subdivision. Now there are no houses there and 20 years ago a mall was built nearby. The first time I met the residents and staff before moving in, my mom and I were