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Extract from my journal from over 5 years ago, when I was starting therapy for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD): "I won a positivity award at work…Seems ironic as feeling so negative internally about it. Might paint Snowball – a longhaired fluffy white cat…with purplish eyes…a book cover for Pet Purpose? What is her hope?" 
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First up, I want to say that Soar Purpose is now a registered trademark. It's relatively inexpensive to trademark in New Zealand and I think it's worth it for a meaningful blog or small business. It's currently a passionate hobby but it has potential to become a business. I've trademarked under class 41: 'Education, entertainment, sports' (ironically I don't like sports but it's all one class). My specified goods and services include book editing and publishing, painting and art instruction. Dreaming big.  I painted 'Healing a Broken Heart' in 2018. I uploaded some of my paintings (mostly birds) to my paintings page today. I haven't actually painted much past few years (other than rocks).  Focus, acrylics on canvas by Xanthe Wyse I've actually been a writer for many years, but most of it hasn't seen the light of day. I've even destroyed a lot of what I have written. The raw stuff (journals etc) can inspire books later. I spend years writing my books, as I am processing plus working with disabilties that affect my cognition and memory. I had some space last night to go through some of the extracts I'd torn from journals from 2017-2019. The rest of the 8 journals were burned recently.  Journal extract from 2017 I'm not okay. I can't 'mask' this. If I'm 'too blunt,' and 'too honest', and don't validate others, I get told, 'Why are you being so negative?' and 'You sound angry' (from mere typed words onto a screen). I can't stand toxic positivity. Faking that everything is butterflies and rainbows when it's not. It's gaslighting. It's telling people to suppress their feelings. My psychologist already knows I'm am expert at that. Avoiding and shutting down intense emotions is part of my presentation of post-traumatic stress disorder, PTSD (from trauma).  Symbolic items on my desk I spent all of last night and most of today going through my immense digital photo collection searching for sawdust. Yep, that's right, sawdust, as I knew I had taken pics. Along the way, I wrote 5 pages of notes as memory triggers for my books plus culled some raw videos I didn't need anymore (from my YouTube vlog). I finally found the sawdust compliation, a photo essay of Dad's tools when they were in use in October 2017, to build me a set of drawers. Dad thought I was odd I was taking photos (bipolar mania episode) but he didn't mind. Just including a small selection of those photos in this blog post, with what I think they are called.  Dad's clamps, on his workbench A tradition in my family was to watch the old home movies Dad recorded, back in the days of film. We used to crowd around the tiny fridge to see the image projected onto it. Or in the lounge, with the old movies (without audio) were projected onto a rollup screen. Dad recorded home movies from over 15 to 50+ years ago, switching technology a few times. Dad died a few weeks ago but what he captured, lives on.  My nephew and I waiting for Dad to set up the home movies to watch. Nearly 30 years ago. I still haven't done everything on my list, since I published my book. Partly because I haven't felt motivated to, as my Dad died the same week. Last night I cleared out a few things from my wardrobe. I came across some notebooks with amusing anecdotes from when my son was little. This anecdote keeps playing through my head.  I'm not gonna say much on this blog post. Too angry to. My Dad died two weeks ago. A few people this past week have said, 'She (my mother) lost her soulmate/best buddy'. I said, 'I lost my Dad.' 'That's not the same,' I was told. Over and over, told my grief doesn't matter as much. Or than I'm grieving the 'wrong' way as I don't feel safe showing intense emotions in front of others (PTSD).  Last pic taken with Dad. He was 81. I am not going to detail the shitstorm that continued to get worse these past few weeks. I deleted the semianonymous tribute YouTube channel after two family members who consented to it had a tantrum over it. It was snippets of my Dad with his children and grandchildren from years ago. Some family and friends said they'd enjoyed it. Heck, I'm not even allowed to grieve the way I want to. I'm sick of others trying to control me, a fifty-year-old women. And trying to control how I grieve as well as dismissing that I am grieving too. Well, yes, I'm angry. Mostly at the entitled selfishness. I can't even say publicly what's really going on, effectively muzzled by those who throw their power around. Gaslighting bullies. I have very restricted options, with my disabilities. I long to be free. Posting the last pic taken of me and my Dad. Anyone who objects can farkoff. That is all.  With Dad over 20 years ago (in my late twenties) Note: this is not legal advice. I was going to write these tips at the end of my previous blog post, You Need to Make Your Will. But as I tend to have a lot to say, I decided to make a fresh blog post. I am a very intuitive and visionary person and I had already thought about this recently, before my Dad died. Yes, I can be melancholic at times. Your writing may or may not endure, if you die. I'll tell you why, as I've learned this in my journey of blogging then writing books. I've set things up, so my heirs inherit my copyrighted works, whether they want to try to make money from them or not.  This antique item from my Dad is one of my precious possessions |
Xanthe Wyse('Zan-thee Wise'). 
Disclaimer: the author of this blog is not an expert by profession and her opinions should not be taken as expert advice.
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