Facing the Elephants

Facing the Elephants is available at BarnesandNoble.com and Amazon.com

 

Rebecca Black

In the news

Podcasts-

Roger Sargent's “Everyone Has a Story”

Listen to Rebecca Black on the Healthy, Wealthy and Wise radio show on Tucson Business X Radio!

About Rebecca

Rebecca was born in Michigan, lived briefly in Germany, but grew up in Tucson where she lives today with her husband, two sons, and two dogs. She is currently working on book two to complete her story of survival. Rebecca does not consider herself a writer, rather a truth teller, an advocate, or simply a voice to represent all of the unheard in the world that share similar experiences.

Rebecca has come a long way in her journey fighting her way through career loss, struggling with PTSD, and self destructive behavior. Rebecca faught fiercely through therapy and speaking out honestly about her struggles, to find herself on the other side of the ugliness and is finally standing strong and marching forward!

Rebecca has accomplished writing and publishing her first book. Rebecca had a rare and beautiful opportunity to be photographed by David Racugglia in Chicago.

And now has co created a beautiful program and has achieved her dream job. Rebecca is a program director at a Tucson local nonprofit called Survivor Shield Foundation, where she assists survivors of sexual assault. This is what she has always wanted to do.

You can visit the Survivor Shield Foundation website to learn all about her position at Survivor Shield Foundation as program director for Pathways, or simply visit to make a donation to help support our efforts.

Random information about Rebecca Black -

She loves art, oil, watercolor, charcoal are her favorite forms. She adores music, from Tori Amos, to Otis Redding, Radiohead, to Johan Sebastian Bach, Black Crows, Joni Mitchell to name a few.

Poetry is one of her favorite things to read as well as write!

She loves-

Pablo Neruda, T. S. Elliot, Robert Frost, and herself..

She is an eclectic, fierce woman. Trying to share her truth, bring awareness to issues that carry stigma and are highly ignored, like mental health and PTSD caused by sexual assault.

Facing the elephants is her debut memoir.

Facing the Elephants is published by W. Brand Publishing.

wbrandpub.com

 
 
 
 
 

Rebecca's poetry -

PTSD-

My eyes stare into the room till it breaks apart, and blurs, and I'm staring into the past. Lost in that moment of what was, my body sinks, my heart pounds and my eyes water. Suddenly, my skin pixelates from a sound in my head like the ripping of a needle off a record. Refocused instantly to real life. I missed what people were saying. I smile. No one noticed.

The Animal-

I once pictured myself in a mirror, caught a glimpse of color reflected on my face. But it's cloudy now.. The mirror is shattered, and Grey particles fill my life. Matte, and shineless thoughts are left for my now mosaic approach to communicate. No color to lead me to repair. Mixed up and jagged is the mirror I view, pieced together by a blinded soul seeking its end. No way back to seamlessness I pass through the cracks. I tare and rip my flesh over and over until I've bled enough for the cause. Nothing but external injury can be seen, and that's the smallest part of me. I walk damaged to the doorway, but I cannot open it. Pacing the house I grow old. I grow restless. I am a domesticated animal. To wild to be caged, to broken to survive in the wild. I feel dull and numb. My pacing creates a path that is senseless, and takes me nowhere. The fragments are so dirty they reflect no color. So I live in grey.

Mental-

Whispers of my old mind have been heard by me from behind my eyes. It does not include me anymore.

Promising my future without it, I go forward to make sense of my life for others.

Life is faint watercolors of music difficult to hear. Patterns of practicality break my vibrance and I now appear typical.

My hands no longer hear the past and my mind no longer sees beyond my surroundings.

Remnants of her scream, a muted cry in the haze of the mornings disappointment.

Quieted by my daily ritual that dilutes my brain, and burdens my soul, for sour is paradise, and so are the pills.

Damaged are the flesh wrapped in a survivor bow. Shinny and new for the public, like a latex glove.

I build my my strength pulling at my boot straps. But I grow old, my hands bleed, and the laces ware thin. I hear myself say; "Get the fuck up bitch"

Bellator-

The Cicatrix is the armor I wear. It's hardening cages my heart, and coats my soul. I am bound to its malady, and freed by its satori. Killing that girl slowly, I now weep for nothing. That girl never was, and never can be again. The brutality of my spirit rages for righteousness becoming a monster in his wake. My hands ache in anxiety to hold her pain, but the heart won't beat in that name.

I've made myself a cautionary tale for the scorned. I spit at the ground in which I stand, so that I keep walking.

This is my path.