The color of my futureis a past broke open andLaid to rest within the expanseof what’s Possible. I smile amidst bright tearsof my own making and The Molasses riptide changesto gentle Champagne.My body rests and floats,held up by imagination, bubbles.My own strength. Yours. Dread spins into nothingness.I am the Curiosity that remains. I am MagicI am WholeI am SafeI am Here That noon hour of painand fear dissolves ina mixture of blues, pinks,purples and golden glitter.Exposed to light —the static & chaos recede Abracadabra! I Say:With my file folder of words.Because I am Powerful. I am NowI am the calm
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Trigger Warning and Note:This piece includes a description of a sexual assault with a weapon, a “fight” nervous system response, and a description of acute PTSD symptoms. Please note that every person’s nervous system is unique and would respond differently to a life-threatening situation. … I am publishing this Victim Impact Statement both as a resource and sample/example for other survivors contemplating or going through the justice process, as well as to illustrate the profound effects of sexual violence. *** I have always intended to publish (eventually) the Victim Impact Statement I wrote for and presented to the presiding judge
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My Love, I know how frustrating it is to be triggeredand down again after weeks or months of feeling good and strong. You are angry.You are tired of fighting.I know this, Love. But hold on, dear.Listen to the waves and energyof your own growth, your path.The pattern. It’s coming … The good is circling back aroundto find you once again. And catch you by surprisewith its light reignited. Art by Dianne Hammer Follow me atInstagram: diannehammer_writerFacebook: DianneHammerWriter
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(Trigger warning.) I took this selfie one week after a registered sex offender walked into a bookstore on a busy urban thoroughfare where I was working, engaged me (groomed me) in conversation about the literature genre of science fiction and other topics for 30 minutes, waited for the store to clear, lured me out from behind the check-out desk to show him a specific author’s books, and attacked me from behind. In this photo I was at the kitchen sink, cleaning the knife wounds and stitches on my hand, and it occurred to me for the first time at that
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This photo was about four weeks AFTER in 2018. My husband helped pace me to a third-place, age-group finish. I was running on pure anger and adrenaline and determination and yelled, “Fuck Him!!!!!” inside my head when I crossed the finish line a second after this photo was taken. Or maybe I yelled it out loud. I don’t remember. But it was very satisfying and I’m so appreciative of John for helping me achieve that. I felt incredibly empowered, and I still have that race result on my fridge five years later. It was the first super-positive experience I had
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QUIETLYOur hearts wait While we grieveAll that was unfair While we retrieveAll we hid away While we FEELAll we made numb Art and Words: Dianne Hammer
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Trust the journey. Trust yourself, Dianne. Trust. I kept telling myself this. I needed to trust. And to draw from everything I’ve learned so far when I was in a funk this past fall. When I was depressed. Yes, I’ll say the word that people sometimes have a hard time saying: I was “depressed.” 2022 was a really hard year for me with initial Lynch Syndrome screenings and related surgeries; a long bout of Covid; continuing, successive and confusing joint issues and pain constantly interfering with my hopes of finding physical strength and fitness again; and a persnickety digestive system
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Motivated for change and growth and possibility.Choosing THIS voice. Forging THIS path. Making. Crafting. Becoming. I am both fire and water. Storm AND peace. Ultimately. Hopefully. Mindfully.Seeking better ways to be. For me. For others. I hold up a mirror, and I am not alone. Not alone. Other-ing. Connecting. Finding. We ARE. Not alone. Just. Getting. Started.I sing with cracked voice.Whisper with clear intention.I SHOUT!
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My husband and I have a vacation rental in the mountains, which I’ve written about in my House Therapy posts. In these, I parallel what it was like and what it meant to me – especially retrospectively – to embark on an all-encompassing creative endeavor during the exact same time I was going through the exhausting justice process. (By the way, I still plan on completing my House Therapy project, possibly as a book. Meanwhile, you can find chapters one through six starting here:https://diannehammer.com/2020/11/house-therapy-chapter-one-2/ ) John and I hope someday we won’t have to rent out our mountain house, but
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October 7, 2022 Happy Birthday, Dad! You would be 94 years old. That’s so astounding to me! You have never gone, fully. I understand how that works now. I carry you in my heart and in my drive and in my personality. And in my biology, my aging – I see myself in you more and more. In Mom, too. I’ve been thinking about you a lot the last couple of weeks, as I go through an initial batch of your videos and slides that I’ve finally started to get digitized. It’s interesting to see through your eyes what you
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