web analytics

Sandra Jean-Pierre | Digital Artist & Writer of Words.

Tag: mental-health

Body Conditions: I Take Time

She barely whispers “Good Morning” when she comes into my room.  She thinks I may be asleep.  Most times though, as soon as her key slips through the deadbolt, I am instantly awake.  My hearing that acute, my alertness that intense.  I let her think she has woken me up, using those few sweet minutes to ready my mind because I know that I take time. She always asks how I spent the night.  I actually stop and think about


For the past month, I have been creating… but not like you’d think. I’ve been giving answers to questions on paperwork to create means to clear up my backyard, still. I’ve been making phone calls, creating and rekindling connections. I’ve been taking inventory of our kitchen, creating a situation where ‘food insecure’ and our home no longer appear in the same sentence… except for this one, in words only. I’ve been making boundaries, creating safe spaces where I can rest.


Yes. I’m alive.  Sometimes barely so, but I am here. I’ve been pacing around the perimeter of this blog like a caged animal, wondering if I should look into it, wondering if I should look at it, wondering if I should try and breathe life back through it. It’s been so long since I’ve kissed her, that I’ve almost forgotten the taste of her words across my lips… No promises. What I know to be true is that when I

Disabled Chronicles, No. 653

… So my pared down, three page complaint letter against the CNA who was unconcerned and negligent about my care as a Special Needs patient my last hospital stint? Just got a call back from the hospital that the CNA is being sent to training so that she can essentially get some bedside manners and re-learn how to properly take vitals. While she is sitting in those CNA remedial classes, I hope she remembers me. I hope she remembers WHY

Disabled Chronicles, No.93876

Chronicles Of Being Disabled, Entry #93876: Having been properly packed and sent off by Publix’s very own Abuelita, I make my way to the bus stop. I would NOT be stopping at Starbucks for coffee, I would NOT meander and loiter in these Sunday streets. I just wanted to get on home. As I approached the bus shelter, I spied a Little Person. He is a black gentleman that I have seen take this very same bus, quite often. Though