Indeed, a Burden

She loves me but isn’t sure if she can love the brain condition that I identify with. She loves me but is drained having to stop what she is doing to ensure I’m okay. I know the thought; isn’t that selfish to only care about yourself? Yes, it is. She cares & wants to help, but it’s draining her every being as I flop on the floor like a fish out of water. I am a burden. She admits my seizures are difficult to manage, to grasp, to care for. She doesn’t know if she can be here long term. I don’t know if I want to waste a single second with someone who doesn’t know if I’m worth it. She’ll be the asshole for leaving me because of my brain condition, so she struggles to stay. Truth is, if she does leave me because of my condition, was she ever deeply connected to me?

Maybe my brain condition wont just ruin me, it’ll ruin us. Maybe I’ll be a long term a vegetable. A dying, vegetable withering.

2/16/23

VILLIAN

Deep shadows within my soul begin to lurk in my mind, decapitating my being, breaking metaphorical bones, creating dark pain in my heart, creating a sea of blackness covering my entire body. Am I safe within these walls of terror that encompass my every being?

Will these walls build with anticipation guarding the girl, isolating her from the world so she can’t harm anyone anymore? I am the girl. Am I a villain with harmful desires? The want to punish my inner self for the damage I am causing, looking in the mirror seeing the little girl whose already so damaged, does she deserve this punishment? Does the grown me, do I, do we deserve to be punished?

Everything that was done to me, am I repeating? Am I the problem? Is it really me? Do I deserve to live in a world where I contribute darkness to an already dark world? Am I suffocating the air around me? The space I take up, is it a waste, am I a waste?

I cling to what my second mama told me, over & over again, engrained in my brain - I cling.

“The most important thing about you is that you are a beloved child of God.”

I cling. So why do I feel so unloved? Why do I feel so unworthy to be loved by God. Why do I feel so broken & ashamed?

Am I a spiraling disaster creating a storm? Do I deserve true happiness? Am I the villain in my own narrative, in her narrative, in every person I encounters narrative?

I hate myself for being anything remotely like them. Beloved, beloved, beloved. Yet, I can’t love myself. I can’t love myself if I’m the chaos, if I’m the villain.

2.15.23

Sadness

Sadness hits me again like a truck going 100 miles per hour. The pain is becoming unbearable. If I don’t make it through this depression, through this black hole, please know that I tried. If there are wounds inflicted on my skin, know that they’re there because I couldn’t use the coping skills my therapist gave me because I was to far sad. Know that I’m a fighter at heart but this battle is coming to 7 years. 7 years of memories of the sexual assault that broke me. The first time I was topless with anyone, all my firsts taken. According to Meredith Gray, every seven years your skin is reborn & completely knew. Even though it’s my skin renewal on Sunday, I find myself terrified to sleep because of the dreams that haunt me. I wake up panicking, alone because she wouldn’t sleep next to me, afraid because I question reality at first. I can’t do this anymore, the memories, the pain. I try so hard to let go, I give it to God, I journal, so why is my brain being so stupid? Am I forever broken? Do I deserve love? All the mind games that play through my head like a broken record. The thought of Sunday, Sunday this, Sunday that. Sunday is too much, can I just wake up & it be Monday? I’m afraid of the anxiety that lingers within me, creeping up my spine, creating unbearable tension. I’m strong she says, but I feel so weak & fragile. I am like a child, hold me, protect me, brush my hair, bathe me in love. I am sad. I am weak. I am anxious. I am sad.

8:35 PM, 2/10/23

Little Soldier, You Found Love

She loves me, she loves me not.

It depends on my mood, it depends when she cares or sees me.

She hurts me in my dreams, she’s hurting because of my dreams.

Tug of war, push and pull.

This love is worth fighting for, but we’re both tired. 

So, so, tired.

“Soldiers put down your wordy weapons!”

Bad dream, bad day, February on repeat. 

“Soldiers in position!”

Ready to attack, breathe, it’s okay, take a step back, DBT.

Guards are down, easy target.

Am I scared to be vulnerable?

Walls up, I’m safe here, but I’m lonely here, craving intimacy.

Lack of trust, trust secured.

I trust, I trust not.

My past is shameful, labeled so by my insecurities.

Tear down the wall, let her in.

What does she see?

My broken, distorted insecurities, I’m damaged goods.

Is that why she went to a new grocery store? 

To find something not rotting away at it’s core, something proportionally sized and not a washed up whore.

“Report!”

“Report!”

“Report!”

“Wounded soldier, another one down.”

Both mentally and physically injured from that night.

“First aid at your service.”

In order to restore, walls must be torn, let down your guards Repunzzell.

I love her, she loves me a lot. 

She loves me, I love her a lot. 

“Medics, medics!”

“There’s two, one looks severely depressed, the other one is burnt-out, both appear anxious and easily startled, their shaking.”

Two patients are here, both hearts are apparent, both hearts beating for one another, yet there are multiple wounds.

We’l be taken to the trauma unit, provided with couples counseling, they’ll teach us how to validate one another.

“Their hearts are beating, they’re asking for one another, they won’t survive without each other.”

But, we won’t survive like this.

“Doctor, doctor, how much longer?”

“Healing isn’t linear my darlings, deep breaths and listen. Provide validation, lean on each other for support.”

They see my wrists, they see her scars, we didn’t deserve what happened to us.

“Doctor, doctor, counselor, counselor, MEDIC!”

“Why are you both trying to ruin the one good thing you both have, have you not endured enough trauma and hurt in your lifetime? Love one another, your hearts cling to one another.” 

Our hands fit perfectly together, she squeezes mine, I squeeze back.

Her head on my shoulder, while I rest on her chest. 

Rubbing our fingers through each other’s hair. 

“Hold on tight, healing is a bumpy road. Fasten your seatbelts, you’re being released into a war of past trauma, broken trust, and dysregulated emotions. You won’t survive alone out there.”

We’ll only survive together.

She loves me, I love her. 

I love her, she loves me. 

A third option neither of us are really ready for presents itself, say she waits to foster, say she puts it on hold, say I move in with her instead. I could help contribute, we could save in groceries & on bills, say she looks into that as an option.

Or even better, could she sublease her apartment & we get one together, one that can fit both of us & also fit an extra room to foster. If we get multiple rooms, could I be a roommate since we are legally single. Besides, I’d want my own room.

Maybe then we act as roommates & not a couple living together but then I’m not excluded from the process, I can be involved & there’s no rush to jump into licensure.

I need to ask her about that.

Because if we put our income together, we can get a place like the bestie has. We could do it.

Yesterday, I numbed to erase all the pain of all the people who have taken pieces of me, who have used me for strictly pleasure, to ease the pain of being used over and over again. What did you wear? We’re you drinking? Did you use drugs? All assumptions of each assault, yet each time I was soberly take advantage of in non-revealing clothes. If I counted correctly, my number is 7. 7 times my body was used and abused. A time not included, of domestic violence, where I was physical abused. 8 times of abuse. Plus, I was almost kidnapped once, 9 times of extreme fear & panic. I’ve been pulled & picked apart by each one of these individuals. 8 times, 8 different people feeling entitled to my body, feeing entitled to do whatever they please. This is why I numb, I’m only 25 years old & have been sexually and physically abused 9 times combined. That’s a lot to think about, a lot of nightmares, a lot of lingering scars, and unwanted memories. This is why I numb. I don’t want to feel used. I don’t want to feel dirty. I don’t want to feel any part of the abuse. Add all of this lingering trauma to my crappy day, my toxic work environment, & everything else I’m worried about. So I messed up. It’s one mistake, one time, it just can’t be a habit. It just can’t happen again.

I struggle to answer the questions about substance abuse, am I an alcoholic if I don’t have withdrawals? Withdrawals are not the making of an alcoholic, it’s when you’re stressed, depressed, or even trying to fit in with a crowd, are you reaching for a drink? Are you unable to resist the pressure of alcohol? What is an alcoholic?

“A chronic disease characterized by uncontrolled drinking and preoccupation with alcohol. Alcoholism is the inability to control drinking due to both a physical and emotional dependence on alcohol.”

“Usually self-diagnosable. Symptoms include a strong need or urge to use alcohol. Those with alcohol use disorder may have problems controlling their drinking, continue to use alcohol even when it causes problems, or have withdrawal symptoms when they rapidly decrease or stop drinking.”

Being an alcoholic does not require withdrawal symptoms. I recently read something that mentioned being a high functioning alcoholic, which made me realize there’s a spectrum of different states of alcoholism.

“Some people seem to be just fine even though they abuse alcohol. Experts call these people “functional” or “high-functioning" alcoholics.

You can still be one even though you have a great “outside life,” with a job that pays well, home, family, friendships, and social bonds, says Sarah Allen Benton, a licensed mental health counselor and author of Understanding the High-Functioning Alcoholic. Learn more about the signs of a high functioning alcoholic.

Although it’s now officially called “alcohol use disorder,” you’ll still hear a lot of people talking about “alcoholism” or “alcohol abuse.” It's a condition that ranges from mild to moderate to severe. And it’s all still problem drinking, even if you think it's “mild.”

In Denial?

A functional alcoholic might not act the way you would expect him to act, Benton says. He might be responsible and productive. He could even be a high achiever or in a position of power. In fact, his success might lead people to overlook his drinking.

He could also be in denial. He might think, “I have a great job, pay my bills, and have lots of friends; therefore I am not an alcoholic,” Benton says. Or he might make excuses like, “I only drink expensive wine” or “I haven’t lost everything or suffered setbacks because of drinking.”

But he isn’t doing fine, says Robert Huebner, PhD, of the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism. No one, he warns, “can drink heavily and maintain major responsibilities over long periods of time. If someone drinks heavily, it is going to catch up with them.”

What Are the Signs?

What is heavy drinking? For women, it’s having more than three drinks a day or seven a week. For men, it's four or more per day or 14 a week. If you drink more than the daily or weekly limit, you’re at risk.

That's not the only way to tell if you or someone you care about needs help. There are some other red flags. You might:

Say you have a problem or joke about alcoholism

Not keep up with major responsibilities at home, work, or school

Lose friendships or have relationship problems due to drinking, but you don’t quit alcohol

Have legal problems related to drinking, such as a DUI arrest

Need alcohol to relax or feel confident

Drink in the morning or when you’re alone

Get drunk when you don’t intend to

Forget what you did while drinking

Deny drinking, hide alcohol, or get angry when confronted about drinking

Cause loved ones to worry about or make excuses for your drinking

Risks

Functional alcoholics may seem to be in control, Benton says, but they may put themselves or others in danger by drinking and driving, having risky sexual encounters, or blacking out.

Heavy drinking has a lot of other risks. It can lead to liver disease, pancreatitis, some forms of cancer, brain damage, serious memory loss, and high blood pressure. It also makes someone more likely to die in a car wreck or from murder or suicide. And any alcohol abuse raises the odds of domestic violence, child abuse and neglect, and fetal alcohol syndrome.”

Am I a high functioning alcoholic ?

I can cope, the world trembles, my brain is overwhelmed with unwanted thoughts & trauma filled memories. I can remember them so vividly, I can’t remember some of them, as I dive for information. I feel left out, ugly, insecure, fat, & unworthy. Everything anyone has ever told me hits me like a wave crashing heavily into the sand. They told me no one would want me, no one would love me, that I am only what my body is, all these lies trapped inside my hippocampus creating a storm of emotions in my amygdala. How am I to cope with the pain trapped within? How do I cope effectively in a world that promotes drinking, smoking, self-harm? If I cut deep enough my inward thoughts stop for only a moment until the new scar creates more pain. I’m feeing a mixture of emotions, I coped yesterday. I had a panic attack yesterday. It reminded me of sitting on my hands in the past when I wouldn’t want to cut. How did I fall back into this never ending cycle. Am I a high functioning alcoholic? Am I a high functioning self-harm artist, painting my body like a canvas with new textures & depth?

I FEEL IGNORED

That’s all, that’s it.

4/28

Stumbling Over Concerns

What are some concerns that I have about my relationship? What are some red flags I’m seeing, what am I needing from my partner to feel whole and loved?

1. I know we aren’t ready for intimacy, sexual moments. I do want to get there again, to earn that trust back. What can we do to trust each other intimately again? (I feel starved out)

2. Making little things big things, like the paper plates, going to a theme park only on certain days, etc. All situations having to go Her way or no way. Having to do things exactly how she needs them without asking what I need. I find that I am asking her more times than not what does she need and trying my best to adapt to these needs. Yet, I don’t feel like that question has been asked to me. Is this relationship only focused on her needs or can mine be met too?

->->-> Things I’m needing are words of affirmation, encouragement, honesty & transparency, having a better attitude when around my friends (not keeping to herself or saying negative things), asking me to go on dates without me always having to suggest date nights, the ability to prove myself intimately (to show that I can be trusted), her to be willing to try things that are new for me that might not be new because she’s already done them (both sexually and none sexually), not to make fun of me or judge me for not knowing how to do what might be a simple task that I didn’t grow up on (like the dishwasher situation), to tell me what she’s thinking more so that I don’t feel like I’m always grilling her for answers, to ask me what I’m thinking so that I feel like my opinion is valued, responding to me (texts, social media, etc. (not just ignoring me), going on more adventures, (if there are more things I can think of I’ll share later).

3. Not knowing fully what her triggers are

4. Not knowing her sexual limits, what is she not comfortable doing (physical touch is usually triggering for her, what can I do to help support her and be mindful of that).

5. Not wanting marriage

->->-> Marriage to me symbolizes love, it shows me that the individual I am dating is willing to take that next step, to commit to a lifetime of love, it’s an action of unity, it is a visible demonstration of commitment (one you make in front of those you love, publicly, to declare that you are intending to be committed for ever), faith wise for me - it’s making a commitment in front of God to stand by that person’s side through sickness and struggles, marriage can be the foundation of starting a family (a way to teach our future children what love is, to teach our future children that love is possible and to teach them that there are healthy marriages, unlike what we have seen).

********I WANT TO GET MARRIED SOMEDAY, I WANT HER TO WANT TO BE MARRIED********

6. Family

-A. Wanting her to have her own relationship with my family 

-B. Family Holidays

7. Everything being compared to her ex, extreme fear that I’ll do what her ex did, 

8. Limitations to my physical health due to my brain condition, will she be able to accept it and be there if it gets worse? Is she willing to stay with me through those ups and downs? 

9. Debt, time share, accumulating more debt with unnecessary charges (not always having to by name brand, not being wasteful with food, not always having to be lavish). An example, is one day I saw a bill on her couch for ULTA, it said her balance was over $3,000. How does one accumulate over $3,000 worth of debt? 

10. Starting the foster care process

->->-> Memoir from journal 

************ I’ve always imagined a perfect family, sure there would be flaws, but a never-ending amount of love, unconditional love. Ever since I could remember, something drew me to wanting to adopt children in the foster care system. A seed that was planted and flourished mysteriously. Going to Detroit and working with the group home made that dream more real. As i cleaned the rooms that the future girls would stay in, I prayed for them. I prayed that they would feel loved and not forgotten. I have always felt the fear of abandonment, with my dad leaving mainly, but from other people in my life too. If I could help at least one child feel loved, maybe even reduce the fear of abandonment or remove it completely. A child should be loved, valued, cared for, and wanted. How do I navigate her starting the foster process without me? I can’t tell her she has to wait, I simply won’t. However, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I briefly remember her stating that she was going to do this alone at first because a friend of hers had, but then, she started dating her ex who wanted her to wait, because of her love and care for her ex, she put her dream on hold, and when the relationship crumbled she had waited for nothing (which is why she decided to do this on her own, for real this time). I struggle, feeling like I am being robbed of the opportunity because her ex destroyed her faith in togetherness. I can see how she is hurt, I can see how this feels unfair to me, I can see both sides. Yes, when we were first talking she said she could have a child from the foster care system by Spring. I knew it was an immediate red flag, but it wasn’t big enough to make me run. I also didn’t know how much of a reality that was. Either way, I decided that she was worth it regardless, that she meant more than enough to me to put my feelings aside and adapt. So that’s what I decided, to adapt if that possibility became true. The reality is this is becoming true, she’s setting up a room for a future child. I have to accept that this is her decision. Yet, as a couple, is she welcoming me into that space? She doesn’t want my opinion, she doesn’t seem to want my help in regards to the process, everything I tell her she responds by saying I” know”, she doesn’t seem bothered that she isn’t letting me into the process. Will I even be able to walk alongside her in that space when she has a child? There are a lot of what ifs in regards to this process that could actually happen, yet she wants to push all those concerns aside until she has a child, until it will be more difficult to discuss or find time to even talk about them. I don’t want her to wait for her dreams because of me, yet, I feel left out. How can I support her in making her dream come true? How do I learn to put my feelings of missing out aside to be present in her dreams coming true, to be present with a future child and provide love and support to both of them?*******

There are 10 things on my list that I am concerned for, these 10 things are things to work on, things to improve, things to discuss. There are a 100 things that I love about her, that she provides, that make these 10 things less of a burden. 

Self-Destruction Creates Consequences for Loved Ones, for Yourself

My partner broke my trust. She had a lot she was navigating with her mental health. The pressure of having to manage so much & never taking care of herself. She took on more than she could bare. It became too much, but I still was there, I was still loving her & caring for her. But since everyone else at some point couldn’t provide the love she needed, all of her broken past relationships, in order to destroy herself she needed to destroy me.

She grabbed the next girl who would kiss her, followed her to the bathroom, & got her number. She was drunk & plastered. She was out of her mind. Yet, I stayed. I watched her chest on me even when I told her not too. When I told her to stop. Later, she told me I deserved every bit of it.

I took her home, back to her place, made sure she made it home safe. I stayed with her. I didn’t take her clothes off & put something else on because I didn’t want her to be triggered. I listened as she sobbed from all of her childhood trauma & dysfunctional pieces of her family. Meanwhile, moments before she had told me I wasn’t good enough, that she could find someone better, that she only invited me because she felt pitty for me.

The next day, struggling with all the rush of insecurities that crashed into my heart & soul by just a few sentences being spoken into air. I try to take a bath. I try to shower off the hurt. To soak in Al I experienced & process. To find that she had cut her arms, her legs, her body.

As soon as I expressed my hurt, she cut.

Now, I express the hurt from being cheated on, she struggle to fight back a drink.

I don’t want to break her anymore. Yet, she broke me.

I see her desperately trying. I am too. I want this to work. I need this to work. I’m in love with her. I want to marry her.

Dear God,

Please heal our brokenness. Please take care of her when I can’t be there. Please make sure she’s safe. Allow her to process her feelings without alcohol. Remind her she is loved, whisper in her ear that she is good enough. God, heal me so I can care for her in the way she needs. God, make me a better partner, work on the hurt in my heart so I love her at my best capacity. Help me navigate my own insecurities because I deserve to feel loved. God, I need you. Please don’t leave me. I need you. Please. Please God. Please God. Please God. I know I’ve made mistakes. But God, I need you. I need you to hold me in your righteous right hand, I need you to look after her when I can’t. Please God, I’m desperately fearful. I love you God. I know you’ll always be there for me, help me to see you clearer. Guide me through the broken bones in the deep valley, out of the dryness into fresh waters. I need a fresh outpouring. Father God, I miss you. I need you. I can’t do this life without you. Hold us in the palm of your hand.

In your beautiful son’s name,

Amen, let it be so.

AN ANXIOUS SOUL HIT THE GROUND

I spent the last few hours taking a 6 hour long exam, a practice exam. So why was it so hard? I spent countless hours before the exam fighting for my accomodations & had to fight for them during the exam. When the proctor said, “I set up a table for you outside the classroom so you could have your own space”, in a hallway where people could walk back & forth. I had to advocate to be given a room. Why is it so hard to follow my legal accommodations? I felt the anxiety shoot through my veins. 5.5 hours later, finished. To find out that my exam didn’t post correctly, 10 minutes later to realize it was submitted. So much disaster.

Then I walked to my car, to hit my body to the ground. Boom. Shots were fired, lights flashed. I panicked. Should I stand up? Should I stay on the floor? Police sirens filling the air. Who shot? I don’t know. I just saw bullet casings on the ground. Someone could have died, I could have been shot.

So I drove to my girlfriends & had to park my car down the street. When a squirrel came by, a bunny hopped, a man innocently riding his bicycle, I jumped. I suppose it’s normal for my body to react that way after hitting the ground. I’m glad to be inside.

Another unknown day awaits.

Will I ever Bloom Again?

I'm filled with too much anxiety, to many what ifs coiled around deep fears of a diagnosis or treatment plan that a doctor will slap together to cure something that might be incurable. My dopamine & serotonin teeter totter back & forth, unbalanced. The wires in my brain struggle to connect, to receive & release. How can I be a therapist if I could have a potential diagnosis due to the inability to regulate my own emotions. Then, does that make me a hypocrite. If I spend all day teaching & trying to help others learn to regulate their emotions, but I can't regulate mine. Am I just a hypocrite? Why does this appointment scare me more than any other appointment? Why does it feel so crippling? Why do I feel so afraid of what I don't know? Anxiety goes up & down like a roller coaster, crashing like a wave as it hits, hitting the deepest parts of me. I try to breath. I try to do my best. Today was hard. I feel insecure, I feel sad, I feel worried, I feel incapable of navigating life. Does anyone understand the cries that come from the soul that is imprisoned to my body that keeps getting worse, whittling like a flower that can no longer bloom. Will I ever bloom again? I want to bloom again. I don't want to give up. It's just hard.

4/6/22

April Misery

A flood of memories come crashing in. I am overwhelmed, again. Reminded of how horrifying the pain of April has been. The month that I was born, yet, the month that I started my Title Nine case. The month that I burned the leggings that I wore the day I was assaulted, the month that I spoke at my first open mic night as an effort to end rape culture, the month that I wear full denim on denim day. I use to fight so hard, take back the night, protests, & awareness interventions. All things I’ve lead on campus, all things I’ve participated in. From seeing maxi pads posted all over campus and bloody clothing hanging all over my dorm building my freshman year, to participating in support groups, to leading initiatives. 

At five years old, yet I remember his hugs, his smell, & seeing him on the news. I blocked out most of what he did to me. I remember him laughing at the park when I said I wasn’t comfortable, that I had never did anything like this. I remember him still placing his hands all over me, belittling me, & no one in the world stopping him, yet, in a public place. I remember another guy grabbing my breasts in front of everyone, while they laughed & I felt ashamed. I remember the next one asking for nude pictures while he was 20+ & I was a minor. I remember at church another boy fighting to touch me, putting his hands on me, well my best guy friend growing up got into a physical fight with him to protect me, the only time anyone stopped someone from raping or assaulting me. I remember her forcing me on her breast, her fighting me as I held my pants up. I remember him taking advantage of me in the bike room, pinning me up against the wall, bitting, then a few days later raping me. Then the church boy I thought I knew so well unwillingly feeling me up, to plenty of more moments where individuals have touched me, taking a piece of me. I remember the pain & bruises from each time my body has been taken from me.

April is sexual assault awareness month, a fight to end rape culture. Yet, every time I see a post that protests said culture, I am triggered. I am easily reminded of when my body was an alter for someone to release their own pain.  I remember all the times I wasn’t believed & when I decided to stop fighting, to stop telling. 

In April of 2016, when I couldn’t process & hid deep in a stairwell dancing to a Lady Gaga song, Til it Happens to You. I began the numbing, I began the hiding, I began a different version of myself that year. 

I am not the same girl that I was in elementary school, in middle school, in high school, in college, or even yesterday. I am learning, I am growing, I no longer need to take burning hot showers to burn them off of me. I no longer need to hurt myself because they have hurt me. I am not the things that they have done to me. I’ll repeat that, over, until the day I die, until I realized that I am worthy to be loved, until I accept that my body does not deserve to be used. I realize I am never going to be “healed” but that healing is a continual process. 

April is bittersweet. 

4/3/22

What am I?

Am I broken if there are no physical cracks on the outside? Can it be the inside that is broken? A chemical imbalance in search of perfect harmony that a prescriber thinks can be obtained with prescription drugs. If at first you don’t succeed, increase the dosage.I strive for greatness, yet time after time I fall short. I long to be loved & to love deeper. Yet, I stumble, I numb, I inhale, & try to avoid all emotional damage that surfaces up like a tidal wave, bringing in all my past hurt & trauma, regardless of my mental capacity. I’m told by my therapist that sleep is essential, yet, when I dream I enter a world where I am constantly hurt, constantly abused sexually, physically, & emotionally. The PTSD overtakes a peaceful sleep which increases bipolar depression that enables my anxiety to grow taller than the tallest tree. I am on edge, so I reach for a sharper edge, one that can punctuate deep enough to temporarily release the pain until I realize that it is indeed temporary. Then out comes the rain, pouring from my eyelids to my cheek, thunder comes in muffled sniffles, with deep sense of remorse, of regret. I’ll cover it up, hide it away, like the pain within me. Deep within these bones are aching pieces of a little girl who grew up to soon, a story of dampening words that crushed her soul, that crushed her belief in herself, & that damaged her self-worth. Each line echoing that she is not good enough & that maybe if she was better, if she tried harder, the grass on her side would actually be greener. Deep within those bones are a hidden story, pushed away, with no intent to be told. That is, until one things trigger the next. That is, until one line of the story creeps up out of the bones & reaches her at her lowest point. That little girl, she, she is still within me. Does she think I am broken? Does she think I’ll survive another day to one day be a better mother, a better lover, a better friend, daughter, granddaughter, coworker, or therapist? Does she hope & dream for my future? Or am I a lost cause that she dreads. Will I ever be able to fully conquer the trenches of my trauma? Will I ever be whole? Or am I lost at sea, somewhere deep down under? How many more therapy sessions & prescription drugs until I don’t feel overwhelmed, anxious, moody, insecure, or broken? Will I ever seize the day or just keep seizing, seizing from a condition that overwhelms my occipital lobes. Am I a medical mess? A therapists worst terror? Am I capable to be something beautiful? Am I even beautiful?

3/31/22