Walking the Ghost Path
A year ago, I unwittingly set something huge and strange into motion when I decided to begin treatment for the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that has ruled my body and mind since I was a teenager.
I never imagined that the consequences of my decision would reach so far and affect so many people. Ever since I set foot on the path to healing, bizarre and awe-inspiring events have unfolded around me.
Everyone who hears about what has happened tells me, “You must write about this.” Sometimes, they say these words with urgency, or through tears.
So here I am. Writing.
Table of contents:
- Part 1: My First Shameful Confession: A year ago, I said some of the hardest words I’ve ever uttered: “There’s something I’ve never told you. I have a brother.”
- Part 2: My First Ghost Story: The closest I’ve ever come to encountering a ghost was when the ocean ate one of my only remaining connections to my father.
What you’ll find on the Ghost Path:
- Stolen inheritances
- Long lost family members
- Shameful confessions
- Large musical instruments being set on fire
- Seriously fierce 80s fashion
- Mental illness
Yes, this story has it all — there’s even a villain! If you fed a drama llama nothing but Real Housewives episodes, tabloid magazines, and moonshine, it would shit out an exact replica of my family’s very own two-bit, wannabe Iago.
Don’t miss a single step on my journey:
Every time I think this crazy story is approaching its conclusion, the universe laughs so hard at me, it can barely manage to say, “Think again, bitch!” through its giggles.
The Ghost Path is not straight: it twists and turns; it time travels. The consequences of my journey now stretch back generations and encompass multiple families.
I don’t know how many blog posts I’ll have to write to tell you everything — but I do know most people find this tale juicy and riveting.
If you don’t want to miss a moment of this story, subscribe to my spam-free email updates.