We are calling it theft. As if he could pluck open your ribs like cello strings, Pocket your breasts, steal what makes your heart flutter and tack its wings to his wall. Some days you will feel dirty! Some weeks you’ll remember how hard it is to breathe in public, like your heart beat is climbing to the attic of your throat only to suicide itself on the pavement. But know this: the person who did this to you is broken, not you

I just feel really shaken up right now. I feel lonely and I feel like breaking down and crying again. Last night was horrible and I don’t really have a lot of days like that in a while. I had seen someone walk past my house last night and I had a panic attacks, so I hurried up to close my blinds and it hit me in the head and knocked a statue over. So I was on the floor crying trying to glue back the pieces and I had this horrible flashback of Banky raping me and I had broken down. At first I was angry and then I was sad. I got up and sat that the computer and cried. I cried so hard that after a while I got tired of crying because it hurt too much so I had to stop. I had another flashback but this one was about Frank and it felt like the 2 years that we were together had been crammed together and I had felt every single time he touched me and it was in such detail like I was watching a movie but I couldn’t stop the movie from playing. After I had caught my breath and stopped having the flashbacks it felt like my body was here but my head wasn’t. My body didn’t feel like it was mine. And all I wanted to do was get the pictures of them out of my head. The flashbacks became nightmares the whole night and I got no sleep.

I just feel so hurt right now. I woke up this morning and I feel like I have to throw up and my stomach is so upset right now. Like for the first time in months I’m actually scared to be in the house alone. Like I feel like I’m becoming paranoid again. Like I can feel them watching me. So when I woke up this morning I didn’t want to get out of bed because my vagina hurt so much. Like it felt like I was burning and I can still feel it. I’ve tried everything to get that feeling out of me but nothings worked so far. It felt like that after Banky had performed oral sex on me and before he raped me. It’s like that feeling just won’t go away and it just makes me sick to my stomach because I can smell him on me and no matter how hard I scrub I just can’t get it off of me.

 Someone to tell me it’s going to be ok, someone to hold me and just be there for me, I need to hear that it’s not my fault and that I’m still normal and beautiful and that I’m not damaged. I can’t do this part alone. I’ve tried so hard and I can’t so I’m reaching out to my support system. I’ve tried doing it alone and it doesn’t work, I only hurt myself and everyone else around me when I do it alone. I’m trying to convince myself that it’s ok to lean on other people when I need help. That I’m not weaker because I need help, that I deserve to be happy just like everyone else.

 I’m trying so hard not to cry because my daughter is here and I don’t like crying in front of her because she picks up on emotions so easily.  My daughter has changed everything for me recently. I was so selfish the past couple of years, especially after I had her; I was selfish to my ex- husband and everyone else. But just being around her more and actually spending quality time with her and opening up has changed my life.  I want to be there for her when she’s 100 lol I know that it’s not going to happen but I want to make sure that I’m around for her. She’s my heart and if it wasn’t for her, I would still be drinking and trying to kill myself. I don’t want my daughter to grow up without a mother like I did. That is the 2nd worst thing that could happen to her and I would never want that for her. Every day I look at her and she gives me a hug or says I love you mama I think about why I’m fighting so hard. Why I keep fighting to survive, I’ve been raped and hit and abused (sexually and emotionally) enough times so that maybe one day she will never have to go through what I went through.

Each day is hard; it’s the hardest thing I will ever have to do. Some days I don’t want to get out of bed, some days I just want to fall asleep and never wake up again because on my bad days I feel like I would be so much better if he would have killed me and then I have days where breathing hurts so much that I’d rather hold my breath until I die. But then there are days where I have really bad panic attacks and I have control over them, and that makes me feel really good because I know that everything I’m doing is finally working. The emotions that I go through every day I can’t explain it. There are a lot of highs but so many lows to go along with it. It’s a draining and exhausting process that I’m scared that I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life. I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to get better, to be normal again; I guess I just want to be a normal woman. Someone who has no problems with her sexuality. A woman who doesn’t have the flashbacks, panic attacks, triggers or the jumpiness when she’s touched by her partner. I want to feel like my body belongs to me again, that someone never touched me in the most intimate place every. I can’t get that back, none of it I can get back and I don’t want to say its ok because it’s not but I’m determined to heal from it.

Sometimes I think about if there’s actually healing from this. Is it something that you can actually be cured of or will it kill you slowly in the end? Do we actually heal from the flashbacks or do they eventually go away for a while and come back again when you’re not expecting it? When it does come back do you have to start all over again with therapy and healing? I wonder how many hours of my life I’ve lost to being raped and fighting this battle. Who would have ever thought that it would cause so many problems and so much heartbreak that a lot of people just don’t understand. I just want to know if I can actually get better from this or am I just holding on to false hope…..

She’s heard stories of Vietnam vets who can still feel the tingling of their amputated limbs She’s wondering how many women are walking around this world feeling the tingling of their amputated wings, remembering what it was to fly, to sing

I’m just really tired right now. This whole month has been so depressing and emotional and I don’t know why. I just feel like crying all the time. I sent off for my police report when I tried to press charges against Banky. Ugh just saying his name makes me sick to my stomach. It just seems like everything is falling apart. The more help I get the worse things become around me. I keep second guessing myself about what I’m doing. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I feel like I have to do it I have to speak out about what’s happening. It still feels like I’m carrying around this deep dark secret and its tearing me apart inside. I’m scared about publicly speaking about what happened. I’m scared that people I called my friends won’t want nothing to do with me anymore. I’m scared that ill push everyone else away. I’m scared that I’ll never get over this.

Therapy isn’t going well at all. Every time I need someone to talk to everyone is busy so by the time that someone ask me what’s wrong or what’s bothering me I don’t really have anything to say because I don’t feel that same feeling anymore. I feel as though people just ignore my feelings, I feel like I’m sacrificing my soul. And right now I’m actually starting to think that something is seriously wrong with me mentally. I think it’s my hormones again. I’ve been keeping track of my emotions and something just seems so off with that and my eating habits.

This has just been such a bad year and I can’t stop thinking about my dad, I just wish this whole thing was over. He doesn’t want to live his life suffering, not knowing what’s going on around him. He has no function in his brain and yet my mother still won’t take the feeding tubes out. The doctors keep telling us that he’s not going to come out of the vegetative state. And it’s been 8 months and no one is listening to me and I can’t do anything about it. She didn’t care about him while he was around so why are you making everyone else (including your husband) suffer.

It’s just a lot of stress going on right now. My Grandfather (I’ve known him since I was 5 and he’s the closest thing I’ve had to a grandfather) died last night. Death always comes in 3’s. Its only October and the year isn’t even over. I’m tired of trying to hide my tears. I’m tired of crying in the bathroom. I’m tired of just letting go of one tear at a time and hiding the other tears. I’m just tired of having sad feelings.

As an adult woman can hunt for and find her own value. She can graduate herself into importance. But during the shaky span from childhood to woman hood, a girl needs help in determining her worth-and no one can anoint her like her mother.

“Young Children believe that Mother is the true source and has all the answers. If a mother dislikes her child, or thinks she’s not good enough, the child believes she’s unlikeable and inadequate. If someone does not challenge this distortion and show the child that she is worthy and precious, she will internalize these negative beliefs and eventually decides that she cannot be different.”

I’ve been thinking for a while, about how I’m doing in therapy and my progress. So I’ve have homework and everything and one of the things I’ve done was a billboard of positive things and things that I like that make me happy. I do have pictures of myself on the top of the billboard with encouraging words and I have post it’s on it with positive things about myself and my body. I also have a book of positive affirmations that I carry with me all the time that I created myself. That got me to thinking of why I even have to do either one of these things just to make myself feel better. I sat down and thought for a little bit about what caused all of this and how it started. I thought about how I felt about myself when I looked into the mirror how I felt about my body and my feelings towards me. After thinking and crying I realized that I don’t have self-esteem or confidence.

I don’t know what confidence feels like. I don’t know how to think about my body but the only thing I do think about is having thunder thighs and my mother always getting on me about becoming a roly-poly and losing my baby weight. I felt the same thing about my hair and my complexion. Shed called me nappy hair because I have kinky hair so she put a perm in my hair when I was 12. After I had the perm in my hair for a while, it started to break off my hair and I started wearing hair weaves because I wanted long hair. All the boys and men around her like black women with long hair so that’s what I wore. I had curly weaves, crinkly, curly, multi colored weaves, I’ve even wore a wig before. I was ashamed of my hair. I was ashamed of the length when she made me take my senior pictures with my own hair. I hated the length I felt ugly. I hated that I had to put a perm in my hair to make it straight and that I had to put hair weave in it to make it longer and I still didn’t feel pretty. The only thing I kept thinking of was I was ugly. There were days when I had the weave in she would comment about how bad my hair looked, her and my dad would always say why you keep that crap in your hair. I was a teenager at the time and I remember thinking because I’m ugly. I’m not pretty and no one is telling me I’m pretty and no one is giving me that attention that I need. It got to the point my mother wanted a weave in her hair and she went out and brought the same weave I was wearing but in a different color. The thing that I had to myself I no longer had. I went natural in 07 and every comment out her mouth was when are you going to do something with that nappy head of yours. She tore down every positive thing about my hair that I had and I didn’t have the confidence to even get it back until now. I have dreadlocks and I wouldn’t change it for the word. It’s me, I love the way it makes me look, I love my hair, even the kinky part of my hair I love. I would never put another perm in my hair again.

I don’t have self-confidence; I didn’t have it when I was growing up. I wasn’t given those resources and when my mother did give them to me it was only a little bit at a time but she would come back and break me down again. My weight is something that I’m still a little bit insecure about. I’m still a little insecure about the way my body looks. Over and over it was drilled into my head that I have thunder thighs and a big stomach. When I was little, as soon as I hit puberty in the 5th grade I put on weight in my thighs, hips and my breasts. I’m short so of course it went to those places. I’m not fat, just thick and I love it now and I understand it now but then I thought I was fat. I never weighed over 150lbs in school but when I was in middle school my mother put me on a diet to make me lose weight. Then I was 85lbs in the 8th grade. I could run a mile in 8 minutes but she still thought I was fat and made me very aware of it.

She would tell me how I needed to lose weight because I was getting big. She would tell me that if I didn’t lose the weight I would look like a roly-poly, those toys that waddle but they don’t fall down because their bottoms are big. Then I would have to ride the exercise bike for an hour crying. She made me run up and down the steps for 30 minutes while she sat up stairs watching TV and eating. This one time she made me get on the exercise bike and when my sister came in the room to try to cheer me up she yelled at her to get out of the room. In elementary school I used to eat everything like all the time. She put me on a diet then and limited my portion size so after everyone else went to sleep I would sneak out the bed room and eat because I was still hungry. She preached and preached about control my portion sizes and how I’m eating too much. I have such big anxieties about eating now. Like I only eat once a day because I don’t want to get fat, I don’t want to gain any more weight. I still feel like I’m 10 being told I’m fat and I need to lose weight, that voice is still in my head and I’m fighting every day to try and get it out.

When I was pregnant with my daughter I only gained about 30lbs and that was just in my stomach. A couple of months later my mother asked me when I was going to lose the rest of my baby weight. (my mother is twice my size, she smokes, does drugs and works 3 hours a day, when she gets home she sits in the kitchen, in front of the TV and eat until it’s time for her to go to bed. She still has her baby weight). When I started to lose the weight and started wearing tight jeans shed always have something to say about why I’m wearing tight low cut jeans. My shirt was long enough so you didn’t see anything even when I sat down. I ignored her. So you don’t want me to be fat but you don’t want me looking nice either? In all of my school pictures I was not allowed to wear skirts or dresses. Especially in elementary school. She would put me in old jeans, boots and a sweater when every other girl in the class had on a dress for picture day. So when I would come home and tell her they were teasing me she didn’t care, her response was tell them if you don’t like my clothes go buy me some. That was her answer to everything, feelings didn’t and still don’t matter. We had dresses and nice clothes in our closet but she wouldn’t let us wear them, she would make us wear things she wore as a child.



 I wore make up in high school my freshman year. She hated it, I liked the glitter and the eye shadow and doing my eye brows but she hated it. She hated everything about it because she didn’t wear it growing up. She told me in front of my friends and her coworkers that I looked like a clown with all that junk on my face. I remember walking away holding back the tears because I was still around my friends and I didn’t want them to see me cry. I thought I looked pretty but to her I felt like I looked ugly. I was always insecure about my completion. To this day I still think I’d rather be a dark complexion than the caramel complexion I have now.

I feel like I’m not light enough to be pretty and I’m not dark enough to be pretty either. I feel like I’m in the middle and I feel lost. I got tired of hearing her talk about how light my complexion was, how I didn’t look like anyone else on her side of the family and how I was the odd one out at every one of her family events. Her brothers would make fun of me because I was so light and because I “talked like a white girl” (proper English). She never stopped them she would join in and comment about how she told me to lose weight, how I would be prettier if I lost the weight. And that’s what keeps playing in my head. Where I live, men like light skinned women (red bones) or you have to be loud and ghetto. And I’m not close to either one. I’m still unsure of myself when it comes to my husband. I don’t think he thinks I’m pretty enough because I know he likes light skinned girls with red hair and I’m not that. And I guess it just makes me think of how I wasn’t good enough growing up because of the complexion of my skin and because my hair wasn’t long enough or curly enough or even straight enough. This one girl in my neighborhood would make fun of my complexion all the time all the way up until high school. My first boyfriend broke up with me to be with her because I was too dark skinned and that hurt it still there in my heart.


Growing up I wasn’t called pretty, I wasn’t called beautiful, my mother never told me any of this; my father never told me any of this. The closest thing I was told was that I looked nicer in my clothes after losing all my weight. That’s not a compliment, that’s an insult. I wanted to feel pretty, I wanted to feel beautiful, and no one told me any of those things so I went looking for them. The boys my age didn’t find me pretty either so I went to older men and that’s when I met my ex, which was the worst thing that happened to me in my life. A lot of things I didn’t have growing up that I should have had but I never got. And I dint think that it would affect me as an adult but it does. I don’t have as much confidence in myself as I should. I don’t believe in myself as much as I should and I’m trying to learn it for the first time. I do feel empty, I feel broken, and I feel like not myself. How can I be confident when I don’t know what it is? How can I be sure of myself when I don’t even know who I am? I know what I like, I know what I don’t like, I know who I love and I know who loves me but I don’t know me. I don’t know myself. I feel like I’ve been beaten so many times that I’m struggling trying to get up again. I feel pretty now, I just don’t feel whole. While I’m going through therapy I feel my inner child talking to me and I talk back to her. And I can feel her crying and it’s so loud and that pain I had from being a child is starting to come out.


 Right now I’m scared of changing but I’m excited at the same time. It’s so scary for me because I haven’t felt like this before. I wasn’t allowed to think for myself and now that I had the freedom to say what I want and how I want it I guess I’m careful on how I do it. For so long I’ve carried this around with me because I was taking the blame for when my parents failed, especially my mother. She was the one who was supposed to be there and guide me growing up and she didn’t. That’s not my fault. I was under 18 and a child, I’m not responsible for her actions and I never will be. I’m responsible for what I do after I turned 18 and what I chose to do now. I used to think that because my mother had a bad childhood that was she did to me was excusable and that she didn’t know any better but she does. I see now that she knew exactly what she was doing, that it wasn’t an accident or something that she can blame her childhood on. That was her conscience decision and I’m not taking the fall for it anymore.

I'm 26 Years Old and I'm Learning About Sex Again.......

Just now I had this burning sensation through my body, I felt like I was losing control over everything. I’m scared to talk about the rapes with people who don’t know the details or don’t know me as well as my closer friends. I’m scared that if I open up and talk to people about it I will get hurt. I’m scared that it will come back in my face like I’m use to it doing. I have this big fear that once other people know that I’ve been raped that they will look at me differently.

 I feel damaged sexually. Everything else I can get through but my sexuality before the rape I can’t get back. I will never have something to compare sex to. So much has happened to me before me and my ex-husband met that it really fucked me up mentally. And I was thinking about that last night. How sexually I’m not normal, I never will be. The fact that I can’t just have sex when I want to upsets me.

How something so intimate, so personal, so private can be taken away from you and there’s nothing you can do to get that sense of security back completely. I just learned that I have been dissociating during sex. My body would leave its self and hover over and watch what was happening. I remember doing it when I was raped. I just didn’t realize that I was doing it when I was with my ex- husband. 

Let’s face the facts, I know that if I had an identical twin and we didn’t everything the same and it’s time for us to go out to date and she hasn’t been raped but I have, I know that she would be picked over me.

I’m not stupid or Naïve, no man wants to be with a woman he can’t touch or be intimate with. That’s a fact and that’s my baggage, that’s me. Considering I didn’t have a choice in the situation of having sex I still feel like it’s my fault
I’m learning about sex all over again for the second time. I’m learning what touches I like and don’t like. What feels good and what doesn't, I’m learning the emotional part for the first time ever because I never had a chance to share it the first time around. It’s scary. I know that sex and emotions go hand and hand which is probably why now I feel so emotional after sex when before I just felt so nonchalant about it. The feelings, the emotions, the looks, stares and connection is what I feel when it comes to sex now and even that is a scary and new thing for me.

It’s those days when you want to just hide Forever It’s a constant cold It’s covering your head with shame It’s living as a statistic It’s was drives you To residing to an easy escape It’s when living turns to surviving It’s rape.

I’ve actually been thinking about this a lot lately.
For the past week I’ve been feeling like total crap, I don’t know if it’s because of therapy and how much has come out or if it’s my emotions. But I’ve been feeling super down, emotional and vulnerable lately.

I’ve been talking so much about my feelings and my thoughts to my husband and friends and it’s just so exhausting. I’ve been feeling a lot of hurt lately. Last night it hit me that the men, who hurt me, actually hurt me. This whole time I’ve been dealing with every feeling that I’ve had except fort feeling hurt. I’ve been feeling angry, upset, pissed off, irritated and wanting them to die.

I’ve never felt the feeling of hurt before until last night. At 4am I went into my bathroom, sat on the toilet, with the cold breeze blowing through the window and I cried. I cried because I hurt for the first time over this. I sat on that toilet last night and rocked back and forth and I cried.

I cried so hard that I could breath and I had to clear everything just to start crying again. I repeated over and over and over again they hurt me, I can’t believe they hurt me, why would they hurt me. And I sat there drowning in so much hurt that I couldn’t sit still anymore. I had to get up and I took all that left over hurt to bed with me that night…..

I still haven’t figured out how to stop blaming myself for what happened. It’s not as bad as it use to be but I still think about it... I’ve made some bad choices but that doesn’t make it right. No matter what I did, it wasn’t my fault. No matter what I had on, it still wasn’t my fault. It doesn’t matter if I knew him before we went out, or where we went, it still wasn’t my fault, After so many years of blaming myself, it’s your fault and yours alone. May god have mercy on your soul.

Dream Merchant

I am the dream merchant. Sexually open for the world to see. I take much satisfaction in pleasing you however you my like.

Giving you what you want, I get nothing from it but your money. I don’t care if it feels good.....don’t give a fuck if I cum or not. It doesn’t matter to me; I just want your money.

I let my past get the best of me. I let it consume my mind body and soul. And that’s where I fucked up at. So I’ll make you pay for it. No time for intimacy, love or even a decent conversation. You mean nothing to me; I’m good at lying to get what I want from you. And that’s cash. But looking at me, you’ll never know it.

I will make you pay for what they took from me, by any means necessary. I fuckin can’t stand your nasty ass. The way you look, the way you smell everything about you I have.

That past four years I want........no I will make you feel the same pain I did just because I can.
Be careful what you ask for, I might look like eye candy but I will make your life a living fuckin hell...
©Golden Rays




I’m watching Bill Cunningham show and they are talking to this one female who is prostituting herself for money. She’s almost 30 and she does things for money. Well her friends are one the show to tell her how she needs to change for her daughter and how she’s destroying her life and how she doesn’t care about her child. So the one who was prostituting was like my daughter is taken care of, she’s not here, I can’t see her so who cares. We’ll all three of them are yelling at each other to the point of being loud and annoying. So then she finally came out and said what was going on with her.

She told her friends how she was tired of being raped and abused, how she was abused by her family since she was a child, how her ex-boyfriend had been abusive to her. The men she was with was abusing her. She told her friends that she prostitutes because it’s the only way she deals with the pain that she doesn’t care because she’s tired of feeling lonely and used.

Her friends response was who cares yours still a whole, you’re still selling yourself and their whole conversation ended up being both her friends calling her a weak ass bitch.

I have a lot to say about this whole topic. I understand completely what that woman is going through, I’ve been there before. I’ve hit rock bottom and almost lost my family. A lot of people do not understand the wounds of child abuse/rape and how deep they go. They don’t understand that something that happened to you when you were 5 can affect you until the day you die. It’s a wound that you can’t see and because it happens a while ago from the time we actually come out and speak about it, people automatically assume that we should be over it by now. That we have no reason to complain, that we weren’t killed so that makes it ok. They down play the whole situation and the victims feelings.

We don’t choose to carry around these feelings with us every day. If only you knew how hard it is to get up in the morning and move because it feels like your vagina is being ripped apart because the body memories you’re having from the rape you experienced as a child. Or walking around every day trying to eat because your gag reflex is so bad that it’s hard for you to swallow food because of the oral sex you were forced to perform. They don’t know about the nightmares, the flashbacks, and the anxiety that comes along with it. They don’t understand the shame we feel because it does affect our families. The blame we have when we do into a new relationship and our partners can’t touch us. It all comes along with it.

On the other hand I also understand why she started prostituting. They say that a lot of prostitutes were abused as children which make them more susceptible to being prostitutes, using drugs, being in relationships with abusive partners.



“For many women, prostitution and sexual exploitation might be the only life they know. The average age for girls entering prostitution is between 12-13. ** And studies show that 75 to 95% of all prostitutes were sexually abused as children. ***
http://www.womenslaw.org/simple.php?sitemap_id=148”

I understand how she’s feeling because after I was attacked when I was living on my own I freakd out. At the time I had so much stuff going on with me. I had just started to having bad flash backs again and one night I went out with a girlfriend, I wasn’t drinking I wasn’t smoking anything I was just me and her and I was raped. I don’t remember anything because I had been slipped the date rape drug. My ex- husband (he was my boyfriend) found me on our front door leaned up against it damn near unconscious with a bottle in my hand. I don’t drink cheap alcohol but that’s what was in the bag. I had remembered some parts of it, I don’t remember his face just certain things. Shortly after that rape I was robbed and a friends boyfriend tried to assault me. Frank had started coming around and threatening me because of my ex best friend.

Within that short period of time (a 6 month period) I had been raped, robbed and assaulted and harassed by Frank who was the first man to rape me. I was dealing with the flashbacks from being molested, the body memories from Banky and I had no one to talk to. Me and my ex had broken up because I couldn’t deal with my flashbacks, he told me I had too many issues and I needed help. I didn’t have anyone to go to. I didn’t have support from my family. They blamed me for the rape, my friends at the time thought it was all a joke and I had lost my best friend because I couldn’t deal with the feelings from being abused.
I had actually thought about stripping. But I quickly changed my mind. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to degrade myself, it wasn’t because I thought about my morals it was I thought I was too fat and too ugly to be a stripper, that no man would pay me to take off my clothes and dance for them. So I had seriously considered being a prostitute. It wasn’t even for the money for me. I had felt like if men are going to take it from me why not make them pay for it. What am I getting out of it but being hurt? If they are going to hurt me I could at least get something out of it. I was so use to being used that it was the only thing I knew and felt. I didn’t have friends to talk to, my family wasn’t supportive emotionally, I thought my ex hated me because he was always gone and I was left there by myself all day every day I just didn’t care anymore. As much as I thought about it and as much as I planned in my mind what I was going to do. I never did it. I was never bold enough to do any of it.

The thing about sexual abuse is that it has emotional tolls that damage you more than the actual physical abuse does. If one of my friends called me a weak ass bitch it would probably be the end all of everything. I don’t consider myself weak but I have felt weak before and it’s the most hurtful thing ever to say to a victim (besides blaming them or saying they asked for it). It’s something inside you that hurts so bad that you can’t explain it to other people. It’s a piece of you that gets broken apart and now you have to spend the rest of your life trying to put it back together again. No one understands it unless it’s happened to you before. The outside world just doesn’t get it.

What hurts us more is hanging on to being used to getting abused. After a while after the attacks and emotions we often fall into that victim mode. Where we couldn’t get the help we needed at the time and being a victim is all we know. So sometimes it’s the life that we live every day. It’s so dangerous because when you live the life of a victim it does sendoff vibes to predators. It’s like they pick up on these senses, that’s what they’re good at. It makes us more susceptible to more attacks and assaults. This is not our fault but we can change it with the help of other survivors and advocates.

People may think that we are using what happened to us as an excuse but we aren’t. We don’t want to feel this way, we are just telling you what happened and how we feel about it. We do understand our actions just like you do. We know that we can get through this but telling us to get over it is not one of the ways, especially when we finally do decide to reach out for help.

I know what you're going through, your heartaches are visible, your tears are still real, and your world has still been left cold. You want to cry, but deep down inside you try, to hold it all together. You wish you could just reach out, and hug your loved on once more, but realize it is all a dream. You want to shout

In a corner she sits,

head held between her knees,

her wounds are invisible

to the naked eye,

they are deep,

so deep,

her mind is poisoned,

her actions affected....

As her mind opens up

in the palm of her hand,

the mask she wears slips

from the tears falling,

tears flowing freely

between the memories,

the disappointments,

the tragedy, the love

she feels no more.

Crimson words pour

freely, and stain the

walls and floor, as she

sits untouched....

Today has been such an emotional day for me I don’t even know where to begin. Well for the past two days I’ve just been feeling down. Not depressed or anything but just feeling down and sad. Well one of those things that were bothering me was my dad, I miss him so much. We took him off of life support almost 3 weeks ago but he hasn’t let go yet. He’s breathing on his own but he still has no brain function so it’s not like he’s going to wake up and come back. He’s gone but just lingering around and that has been a little tough for me to deal with. Another thing is just stress with what’s going on at home but some of that has been fixed today so I can let that go.