13-yr old trichster's moving poem


There's a bug in my coffee is a blog by a Marie Larson, 47 year-old,  working wife and mom to two girls living in Chicago. Marie blogs about all kinds of interesting topics, and on a few occasions this included the topic of trichotillomania. Marie's oldest daugher, who is 13-years old has trichotillomania. It is very stressful for a parent then their child is not feeling well, be it a common cold or serious illness. Our instinct is to protect our children, to comfort them in times of need, and to save them when things go wrong. So when we are not able to 'fix' the problem for our child, we feel helpless and powerless and we are left with nothing but stress and fear. So one can only imagine the torment of parents whose child has a condition like trichotillomania, a disorder that is so poorly understood, has so little awareness around it (even among health professional), and has too few options for treatment. Marie has shared some of theses insights in her blog, but in this particular post, she also shared something positive and so moving. 

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A creative young soul

Marie talks about nurturing her daughter's creative side, who she has noticed has a raw talent for creativity. She shares with her readers a powerfully moving poem her daugher penned that shows so much emotional insight and depth uncanny for a 13-yr old. According to Marie, her daughter's pulling is realted to anxiety and creative activities such as poetry provide some relief from stress and anxiety. 


My Secret Friend, My Secret Self

When the music plays, I see things.

I see things no one else can see, colors, tastes, sounds.

We meet alone in the place we built together.

A warm house to keep the rain out.

Made of bricks and logs, a warm fireplace and crackling embers.

A secret friend is fun to have.

A secret friend is safe to have.

A secret friend is never lonely.

Because they never leave you.

I have a secret friend.

She sings and likes to dance. Just like me.

We see the same colors and feel the same sensations.

She feels smooth, light and delicate.

Yet strong, determined and stubborn.

Her colors are rare, she's the only one I see with these colors.

Crimson red, citrus orange, lemon yellow, flamingo pink.

Yet, I see corrupted green, rotted blue and resentful purple.

No one is perfect. We all have our faults.

I wish her to be real.

She wishes to be real.

Her name is Soul.

She is my other me.

K.E. Larsen 01/26/2016


What a talented young lady, I am sure her mom must be incredibly proud!

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