For Bill

I was facing an uphill battle when, at age 60, I started looking for a husband. I previously had three husbands and was still broken up about losing my third, when part of me started looking for a fourth! I decided since I was divorced, but still young enough to enjoy sex, that I would look for a man I could love physically as well as emotionally. That narrowed the field, because most men my age are old, not sexy.

I was really happy when Bill first came to our little church. There were no single men attending the church at the time, so I was excited when I saw a handsome man sitting by himself in one of the pews. The first thing I noticed about him was that he had plenty of beautiful white hair.

I loved him first because he was handsome. His face was tan and he had rosy cheeks, something lacking in most other men our age. Secondly, his demeanor was calm and serious and he was a Christian. And third, I was interested in him because he was sexy.

I remember after our first date I said, “I really like you Bill. I think you’re cool!”

“I think you’re cool too, Nancy!” I was so thrilled I almost fell on my way in the house.

I soon discovered he took my breath away, something I thought I was too old to experience. It took me a long time to have the courage for that first kiss, but once it occurred, I was madly in love. We married a year later and enjoyed ten years together.

Bill got cancer two years ago. He fought like the ex-green beret he was, but succumbed last Tuesday to the devastating disease. After three rounds of chemo, we cared for him at home with the help of Hospice, and Bill’s last breath was taken Tuesday, February 24th.

I thank God that I was with him at the end. I was talking to him, and although his eyes were closed and his breathing was forced, I could tell he could hear me. I started praying for him.

“Please Jesus, take Bill out of his misery. Send angels to take him to heaven to see his mansion. I love you Bill, and I thank you for taking such good care of me, but Jesus is here and he will take care of me now. Jesus and the angels want to take you up to heaven to see your Mother and Father and your Grandfather.” Bill had a special love for his grandfather, who was a pastor.”

“Goodbye Bill, I love you!”

And he took his last breath.

 

Advertisements

To Tell or Not to Tell

One of the most stressful things about sexual abuse, besides the abuse itself, is the taboo against telling someone. Abusers tell victims (children and teenagers), that they must not tell anyone, and that they will be hurt badly or killed if they tell. The abuser also may tell the victim that a loved caregiver will hate them because they are so bad.

Often the victims of this crime grow up with a terrible secret knocking constantly at their consciousness. It’s like throwing a ball against the wall and catching it. You wish you had someone to catch it, but you alone keep catching the secret and throwing it back into your mind, because you believe you will suffer grave consequences if you tell.

According to psychologists, eventually the secret abuse settles somewhere in the child’s sub-conscious and cannot be retrieved. Sometimes the secret remains hidden years after the abuse is over. My secret, the sexual abuse by a maid, was not revealed until I was middle-aged. I went to a mental hospital and my therapist helped me remember my abuse. With that came the realization that I had wanted to tell my mother very badly at the time, but did not, because my abuser told me she would kill me with the butcher knife if I ever told anyone.

Therefore, these secrets, the secrets of sexual abuse, eventually hid in my subconscious. Along with that, I developed alternate personalities that didn’t even know about the abuse. It was only when I had the courage to tell my therapist that the stress of hiding the secret was released.

If you are suffering from abuse, it is very important to tell someone. Telling is a key to healing.

My story has been told, but there are millions of stories out there that have never been told. Every year the Children’s Advocacy Centers in the United States help over 100,000 children who have been abused. These children may be battered, beaten, starved, locked up, berated, or forced into having sex with an adult or sibling. This is not acceptable in our American society, where we value each life. We must pass stronger laws to stop it.

We must address the needs of girls who are being abused by their fathers or step fathers. Often the first thing they do after being assaulted is tell their mothers. Unfortunately this disclosure is often met with retaliation and disbelief. How many young girls have been slapped in the face, yelled at and told they have dirty minds. They are accused of lying. If Mom won’t listen, I strongly advise these girls to tell a teacher or responsible caregiver about this incest. To tell can lead to release from this situation.

A little known fact is that mothers are committing a felony in most states if they don’t report the abuse and do something to stop it.

If YOU are being abused or you are suspicious that a child is being abused, please call the Child Advocacy Center or Children’s Services in your area. It is their job to investigate and RESCUE ABUSE VICTIMS. Their phone numbers are on the internet. Or you can call 1-800-4-A-CHILD, the national number for reporting abuse. My prayers are with you if you decide to tell.

Protecting A Child from Sexual Abuse

Was this child abused?At this time child sexual abuse is rampant in our society, but we are learning how we can protect our children from abuse. When a baby is first born, we mothers are usually ecstatic to see our precious newborn and to hold and protect it. We feed the baby conscientiously and care for their every need. We almost become obsessive in our efforts to protect the child from harm.

Unfortunately, when it comes to sex, many parents remain mute, and figure they will discuss it when the child enters puberty. This Victorian idea is a mistake, and keeps the child vulnerable to abuse. We need to start explaining sexuality as soon as the child can understand, and over time hopefully we can defeat much child abuse and incest.

A group called RAINN has published a blog about teaching your young child about sex and sexual abuse and I believe if we begin to follow their suggestions we can eventually turn the tide on abuse.

Here is a list of the things RAINN suggests we do to protect our children, with a few additions:

1. TALK to your children openly and directly about sexuality. This teaches them it is okay to talk about it.

2. Teach children the CORRECT NAMES for their body parts, so they have the language to ask questions and express concerns about their body parts.

3. Teach children that some parts of their body are PRIVATE. Let children know that other people should not be touching or looking at their private parts unless they need to provide care, such as by a doctor. Let children know that a trusted caregiver should be there too.

4. Tell children that if someone tries to touch those private areas or wants to look at them, or if someone tries to show the child their own private parts, they should TELL A TRUSTED ADULT as soon as possible.

5. All children should be told that it’s OKAY TO SAY “NO” to touches that make them uncomfortable.

6. If someone is touching them in uncomfortable ways, THEY SHOULD TELL YOU OR A TRUSTED ADULT as soon as possible.

7. Talking openly about sexuality and sexual abuse also teaches children that THESE THINGS DON’T NEED TO BE “SECRET.”

8. Tell the child that THEY WILL NOT GET INTO TROUBLE if they tell you this kind of secret.

9. DO NOT PUT ALL THIS INFORMATION INTO ONE BIG TALK ABOUT SEX.

10. When you EMPOWER YOUR CHILD TO SAY ‘NO’ TO UNWANTED TOUCH and TEACH THEM THAT THEY CAN COME TO YOU WITH QUESTIONS AND CONCERNS, YOU TAKE CRITICAL STEPS TO PREVENT CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE.

For more information go to:

RAPE, ABUSE & INCEST NATIONAL NETWORK, http://www.rainn.org

 

NAMI | Working Together for Common Ministry

The National Alliance on Mental Illness is working to equip pastors to help those with mental health problems. See the entire article below:

NAMI | Working Together for Common Ministry.

My Radio Interview

I am so excited to tell everyone that I will be on the radio on Sunday, September 21st at 12:00 noon. The program is entitled Conversations from Studio B.  I was interviewed in the studio by Tom Walker of the National Alliance on Mental Health, (NAMI). The interview will be broadcast on Ohio Public Radio, WOUB in Athens and affiliate stations.

NAMI is one of the only national organizations that concentrates on helping the mentally sick. They have classes for people diagnosed with mental problems, for people who have children who are mentally ill, and for spouses of the mentally ill. The classes are meant to teach and guide caregivers and family members to emotional healing and wellness.

Tom has years of experience as an interviewer and kept the program running along smoothly, asking me pertinent questions about having Multiple Personalities. I answered honestly, if not sanely, revealing some of the pitfalls of MPD. If you miss the program, the interview was taped and will soon be available on the internet. Simply  type in Conversations from Studio B and your computer will bring up links to hear most of the shows that have been recorded. My name, Nancy DeLaval Miller, will be listed next to the program.

I am one step closer to finding an agent for MULTIPLE: a Christian’s Battle with Insanity. Thank you for following itsmindbloggleing.

Look for the Good

If you look for the good in others you will help them find it.

NAMI | How Faith Communities Can Break the Stigma of Mental Illness

NAMI | How Faith Communities Can Break the Stigma of Mental Illness.

Yard Gnome III

gnomeThe Yard Gnome Part III

I didn’t think things could get any worse, when Jessie devised a plan for catching her husband. She had found an old dolly in the shed. It wasn’t a baby doll, it was one of those gizmos men use to move heavy items. She thought we could pick up the gnome and move him back to the house on the dolly. It wasn’t a bad idea, considering the problem.

I wish you could have seen us trying to move that stupid gnome. We had a terrible time getting it onto the dolly, and when we did, neither of us had to strength to push it over the grass. We were groaning and moaning.

“Paul’s fallen off the dolly!” Jessie screamed after the gnome slipped and crashed onto the grass.

“How will we ever get him to the house?”

It was a predicament. The gnome was the heaviest thing I had ever tried to lift and even together we could hardly get him right side up. He was at a weird angle and pretty far away from the bird bath.

“He’s leaning over too much,” Jessie whined. “I hope he doesn’t notice.”

After our dolly folly, neither Jessie nor I could figure out what to do. Since I didn’t really believe Paul had turned into a yard gnome, I decided I needed to spy on him at night. I didn’t mention to Jessie that I thought he was seeing another woman, but she thought he must be moving around at night, doing the yard work by the light of the moon.

The next night we hid outside behind the bushes near the bird bath and watched the gnome. It was back in its original place, with the hose in its hand. Nothing happened for awhile and I almost feel asleep, when we heard a funny noise and something whizzed past us into the woods. The yard gnome had moved!

“Did you see something whiz past us?” Jessie whispered.

“Yes I did, and I heard it too. Do you think it was………could it have been…..Paul?” I couldn’t believe it. How could he move that fast. I must have been asleep.

I couldn’t see Jessie’s face, but I knew she was excited. We began calling out Paul’s name into the darkness, sneaking through the yard quietly. Jessie handed me a flashlight and I lead the way, as we walked round and round the bird bath and through the yard. She was calling Paul in a plaintive voice.

“Paul……Paul, please come in….Here Paul…..I’m sorry I made you do all the housework…” She repeated it like a mantra for awhile. Finally she screamed “Come here you idiot.”

The situation was getting scary. Was Paul a ghost? Suddenly, something touched me on the shoulder and I jumped and screamed.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Jessie said. “I see something in the woods. Turn the flashlight to the woods.”

“Of course,” I whispered. I pointed the light toward the woods, checking out the trees and the bushes, but no Paul. There was a slight glow coming from behind one of the larger trees, and suddenly I saw the top of a pointy red hat. I grabbed Jessie by the arm.

“Look over there,” I whispered. We both saw the red hat. We moved closer and I turned off the flashlight so Paul couldn’t see us. Then we saw the tops of more than one hat.  My thoughts were running wild. Could there be more of these little men? More yard gnomes? Was this a meeting?

“He has friends!” Jessie whispered.

There was a small fire in the middle of the group and we heard quiet laughter. We slipped up closer to the little fire and counted the gnomes. Six in all, and sure enough, there was a female gnome standing next to Paul. She looked almost the same as the other gnomes, but she had blond hair, no beard and she was wearing a skirt. Jessie was really mad by then, and I hoped she knew better than to make a scene.

I was wrong.

“Paul!” Jessie cried. “What are you doing out here?”

“I’ve met some other gnomes,” he answered. “This is Tiny and this one’s Cutie, and……”

“I don’t give a darn what they’re names are,” she yelled, piercing the quiet night. “Are you coming home to bed, or not?”

“Not!” he said. “I’ve met someone else.” He nodded his head towards the cute little female gnome. “You know what they say, gnome, sweet gnome.”

I was astonished, but I had the sense to make Jessie turn around and leave the woods. Soon after, the glow went out and the laughter stopped.

On the way home, despite her anger, a tear ran down Jessie’s cheek. “I had no idea my husband would become a yard gnome. Do you think I forced him into it? I miss Paul, and I am so lonely sometimes. It’s just not that nice at home anymore.”

I finally had the answer she needed. “Well, at least your yard is beautiful! The lawn seems to be perfectly groomed, and I got you a subscription to Gnome and Garden magazine.”

 

 

Yard Gnome II

This story becomes sadder and sadder every time I tell it. Jessie was coming over to my house every morning to discuss her problem. As I sat with her, I realized she was slipping over the edge.

“Perhaps you should see a psychologist,” I suggested.

“What!” she gasped. Oh, oh, I had offended her.

“You think I should go to a psychologist?” Jessie was definitely insulted and she got up and left, slamming my kitchen door so hard, I thought the glass was going to break. I felt bad about it, but I breathed a sigh of relief.

I didn’t see Jessie for several days and then one morning she was back. She had mellowed a bit and she said, “Wouldn’t it be better if Paul saw the psychologist?”

“Yes, but he’s not even able to speak anymore, Jessie. I think you need to get help for your own sake.”

“I guess you’re right. Do you have the name and number of a psychologist?” I gave her the number and she left. When I drove past her house I saw that the yard gnome had not moved and was still holding the hose, smiling. I was amazed that Jessie’s yard still looked perfect. How could that be? I asked her if she was doing the yard work.

“No, I haven’t done a thing. It still looks good though, doesn’t it?”

“Yes it does,” I agreed. Over the next few days I really tried to figure it out. How could a man turn into a yard gnome, I kept thinking. There had to be some explanation. Maybe Paul had put a stone yard gnome in his place and was sneaking off to see another woman. It certainly made sense considering the way Jessie treated him. But how could the gnome look so much like him?

Later that week Jessie knocked on my door. “Oh no, here we go again,” I thought. I was glad to hear she had visited the psychologist, but sad to hear the results.

“That psychologist is a nutcase. He kept asking me about my feelings. How did I feel about my husband turning to stone? Had I done anything to offend him? How did I feel about doing his household chores? Was I willing to give up my soaps? It was just hopeless. When I got home it was dark. I hoped Paul had returned to being a man, so I ran in the house hoping he was watching TV, being his normal self. He wasn’t.”

She started crying again. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about it, it only matters that he’s not around any more. He’s not around to do the dishes, or take out the garbage or wash the car. He doesn’t do the vacuuming, or dust. He’s just standing in the yard. I knew he’d find a way to avoid doing his chores.”

My Neighbor, the Yard Gnome

gnome A Three Part story by Nancy DeLaval   Miller

Part I

When I first met Jessica and Paul Yardley I thought they would be great neighbors. They were polite and friendly and their place looked like a picture from Home and Garden magazine. Often, during those first weeks after they moved in, I would see Paul working in the yard – mowing, planting, pruning, watering – he did everything with a pleasant smile on his face. He seemed very happy.

However, I soon learned that Jessie wasn’t happy at all. When we got together for coffee one day, she expounded on her husband’s faults. He was lazy and stupid, shirked his chores in the house, and all he wanted to do was work in the yard. I came away realizing she was very bossy and quite dysfunctional, even crazy perhaps.

Friday, she came rushing over to my house and knocked loudly on the back door. “Can I talk to you?” she asked, pushing her way into the house. I agreed and we sat down at the kitchen table. “Paul won’t come in the house!” I had no answer for this and she went on. “Paul went out to work in the yard on Wednesday and never came back in. He finished the mowing two hours later and I kept expecting him to come back in the house, but he didn’t. I didn’t really care at first. I needed my nap and I had to watch my soaps, plus I had to prepare dinner. It seems like the work never ends.

“When dinner was almost ready, I went out to call him. I saw him standing by the bird bath with the hose.

“Paul,” I called out.

“I’m over here,” he yelled back. His voice sounded a little weaker than usual, but I didn’t think anything of it. He was some distance away.

“It’s time for dinner.”

“I’ll be in soon,” he said smiling at me. I thought his smile was a little stiff, but I was too far away to get a good look. I was tired from a long day’s housework and I went back inside. I called him two more times that evening, but I finally ate dinner alone. I even ate some of his, but I left him some on a plate. Then I did his job, washing the dishes. That made me really mad and I called him several more times to come in, but didn’t get an answer. That evening I fell asleep in front of the TV, alone.”

Unbelievable as it seems, Jessie told me that Paul never came in that night. In fact, he never came back in at all, and it made her very angry. The next day she went out to find him. He was still standing by the bird bath with the hose. She decided she needed to check him out carefully, so she trekked all the way out to the bird bath to see him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Making sure the flowers and the birds have enough water.”

“I see that, but what about you? Aren’t you hungry?”

“No, I’ve just been sipping a little water from time to time.”

She noticed that he looked shorter than usual. “Aren’t you going to come in soon? I’m sure the birds and the flowers have enough water by now!”

“I stop sometimes and wait for the birds and squirrels to get a drink. A deer came by last night with two fawns and……”

“I don’t really care if the president came by,” she screamed. “I need your help in the house!” She was finally losing her patience with her husband. Didn’t he know that he had responsibilities in the house? The dishes were piling up and he forgot she needed help with the vacuuming. And why would she care if the wild animals had enough to drink?

After an uncomfortable silence she said, “Well, I’m going ahead with my day. If you want to stay out here all day, I guess that’s up to you!” She was mad and stomped into the house.

The next morning she called me and asked me to come over and try to convince Paul to come back in the house. When I saw him I was shocked. He seemed much shorter than I remembered, so I looked down to see if he was standing in a hole. He wasn’t. His white hair had grown longer. His face looked the same but his body was much smaller than it had been. Paul Yardley seemed to be morphing into a little yard gnome. Even his clothes and shoes must have gotten smaller, because they still fit the same way. And somewhere he found a long pointy red hat.

“Take that hat off,” Jessie demanded. “It makes you look stupid.” He just looked at her and laughed. She didn’t want the neighbors to see him wearing it. She grabbed at the hat, but then grimaced.

“Feel this hat,” she said, giving me a direct order. To my surprise, the hat was as hard as a rock. I was taken aback. Jessie and I couldn’t pull it off. We looked at Paul with total bewilderment. Then I touched his shoulder and it was hard too.

“What happened to you?” I asked. He just stood there watering and smiling and didn’t answer. I wondered if he could even talk. Could his mouth move if it was stone? His eyes were still alert and moved around, looking at me and the lawn.

“Quit turning into stone and come in the house,” Jessie demanded, but by noon Paul had turned completely into a yard gnome. All the yard work was meticulously done, but we never saw him move a muscle or a stone arm or leg, or give a toss of his hard head. He was as hard as a rock, and couldn’t talk, so Jessie turned off the hose and went shopping.

“I knew he would figure out a way to avoid doing his chores,” she said.

Stay tuned for Part II of  The Yard Gnome

The Iron Cage

I often dream that I live in a giant cage made of iron bars. Inside the cage is a circular iron staircase, and I start climbing. Step by step I ascend the stairs and as I climb I can hear the sounds of people moving around and talking. I climb higher and stop at a landing and look around. If I look down I get dizzy and I realize that the iron bars aren’t very stable and that I might fall at any time.

There is a wooden door on the landing, so I knock and soon Nola Peters answers the door. Nola doesn’t like me. She thinks I’m dirty and spoiled, and she hates me when I scream.

“Please let me in, I’m afraid I’ll fall,” I say.

“Okay, come in, but watch out for all these boxes. I’m unpacking.” She waves her hand around the room, which is filled with dusty boxes piled on top of each other.

“What’s it like to live up here inside the cage?” I ask her.

“Oh, it’s not bad. I have lots of friends in here.”

Soon I remember that I have a purpose in climbing the stairs. “I’m searching for a way out of the cage. Do you know the way?”

“No, sorry. I just got here,” she answers and turns back to her boxes. “If you look through the bars you can see Bonnie across the way. Maybe she knows the way out.”  I looked hard and realized that Nola’s room didn’t have any walls, just bars around it. A few yards away, past another room, was Bonnie, my old friend from college.

Suddenly, without walking or climbing, I am in Bonnie’s room.

“Nancy, come in,” she says. “I’m sorry I’m very busy sorting the clothes in my closet.”

Bonnie likes me and talks to me about serious issues that affect our lives, like grades and what we will do after college. I think she may know the way out of the cage.

After a few minutes she says, “Would you like to see the sky?”

“Yes, I would love that.” It seemed like I had not seen the sky for a long time. I guess I forgot to look up.

“If you come over here and stand on the chair, you can see it,” Bonnie continued. She holds the chair and I climb onto it and I am thrilled when I look up through the bars of the cage and see blue sky with puffy clouds moving along slowly.

“It’s so pretty,” I say. “It makes me feel good.”

“Me too,” she says. “That’s why I am going to be moving,” Bonnie told me. “I am getting an apartment a few blocks away.” I am astounded that she will be leaving the cage.

“That is very exciting,” I say, “but I’ll miss you.”

“Why don’t you come and visit some day for lunch?”

“I would love that,” I answer, but I am wondering if I can find a place that is outside the cage.

I suddenly realize it’s time to go, and I run back down the iron steps to the ground floor and wake up. I am not in the cage anymore, but I feel like part of me is still inside.

 

AFTERWORD: The iron bars symbolize the place where my abuser lived. She was a juvenile delinquent and lived at the Gumbert School for Wayward Girls north of Pittsburgh. My parents took my sister and me to see the home one day when they had an open house. The school was home to many girls and had a tall iron fence around it. To get to the house we had to park far away and walk through a very tall iron gate.

Today I am wondering what my dreams would be like if my mother and father had not chosen to hire one of these girls to move into our house and babysit for my sister and me during the summer of 1946. Would I still dream I’m in a cage made of iron bars?

 

 

 

 

 

New Federal Commission Will Fight Child Abuse

This is a copy of a February news report from Teresa Huizar, the Executive Director of the National Children’s Alliance.
Just a few days ago, the 12 member, federally-appointed Commission to Eliminate Child Abuse and Neglect Fatalities (CECANF) held its first meeting in Washington, DC.  The commission is charged with making recommendations, to be presented to the President and to Congress, regarding how to reduce fatalities from child abuse and neglect for federal, state, and local agencies, and private sector and nonprofit organizations, including recommendations to implement a comprehensive national strategy; and to develop guidelines identifying what information should be tracked to improve interventions to prevent fatalities from child abuse and neglect.  It’s a first step, but an important one, and it couldn’t have happened with the support of all of you in the field, in our communities, and right here in Washington, DC.  With your help, we will find a way to end child abuse deaths in America.
As always, thank you for all that you do.
Warm regards,
Teresa
The National Children’s Alliance works with local Children’s Advocacy Centers to help with finding, identifying and stopping cases of child abuse and neglectHungry boy.

Today is Multiple Personality Day

March 5th is National Multiple Personality Day. Here’s a suggestion for having a good day:

Tell someone you trust about your diagnosis. The first time I told a dear friend, I was really worried she would freak out and never speak to me again, but I was wrong. She listened intently, wanting to know all about it. Of course I also had to tell her about the child abuse that caused me to invent my alters, but I didn’t dwell on the dirty details.

Once I had told her, it cleared the way for me to enjoy a wonderful close relationship with her. Since then I’ve told another friend and another and now I’ve written a book about my abuse and my alters.

I encourage all of my internet multiple friends not to be afraid to tell someone. The worst thing they can do is say:

“You’re crazy,” which you already know.

The best thing they can say is:

“I’m sorry to hear it. How did you find out?” Believe me they will be very curious to learn about it, and most close friends will be supportive.

What happened to you when you told the first person about being a multiple?

Are Multiples Confused, Conflicted or Both?

I have Dissociative Identity Disorder and I have multiple personalities. I was violently sexually abused at the age of four, which is the main cause of my disorder. I became confused about who I was, and I have a theory about how child abuse causes a person to become a multiple.

The original definition of the word confuse means to make embarrassed, or abash. It also means to make ashamed, which is how it became connected to child abuse and then to Multiple Personality Disorder, one of the major effects of child abuse, especially sexual abuse.

During the abuse, I couldn’t stand to be present, so I pretended I was someone else. I allowed confusion to help me pretend I was also somewhere else, doing something besides being abused. All this confusion helped me avoid the feelings of shame and anguish and forget that it happened. I developed five childhood personalities or alters.

I was creative enough to form alternate personalities, but not mindful enough to push them aside when I was not being abused. I developed a proclivity for inventing alters, which carried into my teens and adulthood. During high school, my friends would wave their hands in front of my face, trying to get my attention when I was dissociating, and wanting me to tune into reality as they saw it. I became conflicted. My alters wanted to come out, but people didn’t recognize them.

If all this is true, I am now conflicted and confused. My personalities don’t always agree about things and they argue with one another and get angry at each other. In a way I am fighting a battle inside me. I have Dissociative Identity Disorder or Multiple Personality Disorder.

Most of you who are multiples are probably aware of these theories and I encourage you to speak out on March 5th, which is MULTIPLE PERSONALITY DAY. Recognize it. Acknowledge it and celebrate it. It’s good to have so many survivors of child abuse.

Did you Find your Blogarithim Today?

I’ve decided that after two years of clogging blogging, I have enough experience to write a blog about how to bluff  blog.

Misspellings aside, I have noticed there is a certain rhythm to a good clog blog. If you have a blogger in the family, you may have noticed they make strange rhythmic sounds or moans during a prolonged process of writing. These are blogarithms. Friends and relatives of a blogger need to encourage quiet, so these sounds can be heard clearly throughout the house or office. No attempt should be made to stifle, muffle or mute a blogarithm.

Blogarithms are as necessary to the blogger as biorhythms are to the body. If the blogger has trouble writing his/her blog and find themselves with a bad case of no-writus (neuritis of the brain), it is possible at that time to create a bio-mathematical blogarithm.

Stand near or by the blogger and try to resuscitate his blogarithms. If he/she has already written a few words (up to three lines of a blog) begin to speak these words to him/her in a rhythmic cadence. Try to get a good rhythm going and hopefully this will restore the bloggers blogarithm and he will be able to continue. This is especially important for people who are paid to blog, (all twelve of them) but also necessary for us amateurs.

Sometimes bloggers make an unsuccessful attempt to write a blog. Words become glue, then turn into wordglue, thus giving birth to the word clog. See www.wordglue.com. (This link is ficticious). Bloggers also need plenty of fresh air. Stuffy air (smog) is not helpful to bloggers, who need fresh air to get fresh ideas. Their minds are often in a FOG, and when they are in this state of mind they are cloggers, not to be mistaken for those who dance a clog.

In my case, I am a multi-linguistic blogger – A multiple who studies weird words, and then blogs them in no particular order.

Previous Older Entries

Other Multiples

If you know someone with multiple personalities, please tell them about my blog. I would like to connect with them