O1.

It was like you were the light; Bright, vibrant and attractive 

      And I was the unexpecting insect; curious and in awe of you and so, I risked my life just to be close to you. 

But I soon realized that, the closer I flew towards your glow, the more damaging you became. 

    Your touch sent fire to my veins and restricted my air. Your guiding glow became my home. No matter how much you hurt me, no matter how many times your power knocked me to the ground, I would collected myself, wipe off the dirt, and fly back to you hoping that this time would be the one time you wouldn’t scorch my wings. 

It’s been years since the first night I laid eyes on your light, I am all but a body now. My wings have been burnt to ash and my legs are broken. However, I’m still here, Im still clinging on to the unrealistic hope that you will lift me up with your powerful light and love me the way I love you. 

But all I am is a bug, and you, you are a radiant and powerful light. 

May 10th

It is in the minutes before I am fully awake that I think of you the most. I see you, and for just a moment in time, I feel as though your not so far away. It is in those first few moments of my day where I am able to feel whole again, where all the pieces that have been swept away somehow find their way back and I can breath. I am neither depressed nor anxious and I am able to enjoy the birds chirping and the smell of spring.

Those moments are but temporary; although, I wish they weren’t. I dread the milliseconds that pass and know that as soon as I move, as soon as my alarm goes off, I will be thrown back into the storm.

The storm that has become my life. The Dark thick clouds that seem to rest comfortably upon my soul ignite and spark, they drowned out the little bits of hope I managed to hang on to, they set fire to my heart with rods of lightening and cause fear with their loud thunderous screams. It feels as though I am in the middle of an empty field, with nothing but uprooted trees and fractured pieces of my heart around me.

And through those booming screams, I am overcome with the realization that I don’t even know who “you” are or why you seem to calm the storm.

Rambling…

My reason for starting this blog was to have a place to write everything down and know that it’d still be there in the rare occurrence that things may turn out for the better, but this blog just causes me stress. Knowing that anyone – especially people who try so desperately to squeeze into mine and my families’ personal lives – can read all the things that I’ve always kept so deep inside. How am I suppose to comfortably write, blog, share when I’m so concern with who or what is reading my thoughts? I use to find comfort in that thought, the fact that people around the world would read my blog posts and in their own ways connect with me, or perhaps find comfort in knowing that their pain wasn’t abnormal. Now, every time I begin to write my anxiety spikes. My mind shuts down and I am unable to write anything.

But really, what more can I say? What else can I blog about that I haven’t said before? My life is just so repetitive, so boring; its comparable to writing the same sentence over and over again, and yet I do nothing to make it better, nothing to make my life more exciting and more worthy of being called a “life”. I just exist, that is all. I do not live life, or embrace the unpredictable, yet beautiful chaos that life brings. I idle, neither going forward nor backwards, in a place of unhappiness and entrapments. I often feel as though I am living in a glass box, able to see the glorious life that lays just feet away from me and yet I am unable to break, or escape from my enclosure and so I run in circles. I continue to run in circles, day in and day out, to incompetent to see that my glass house has no roof, to” comfortable” in my routine to see what is literally just above me, just feet in the air. I fear that if I do not begin to climb, jump, or reach for a way out I will be in this place forever. Stuck in a life that I am not happy in, stuck re-living the same day repeatedly and calling it a life.

I’ve always had so many excuses, whether it be my dad or my nephews, it was an excuse. I barely visited my dad, and my nephews didn’t need me as much as I made it seem, but saying I couldn’t leave because of my dad or nephews was easier than accepting the fact that I was just too scared. But fear is normal. Being scared means your stepping out of your comfort zone and making progress in your life. What isn’t normal is how unhappy of a person I am, how I haven’t had a relationship sense tenth grade, that I haven’t been in love sense Brandon, and that I haven’t moved on from things that happened so many years ago.

Why haven’t I moved on?

Why can’t I find the strength to learn from my mistakes and move forward, why haven’t I been living like a typical 20 something? I can’t continue to blame other people and past mistakes for why my present is such a mess.

                      How easy is it for me to say what I know needs to be done yet I am here still, still in the same place I was a year ago; the same place I was in 3 years ago.

I need to stop caring so much for the wellbeing of other people, because lord knows no one cares about me as deeply as I care about them, and begin to focus on me, on what will make me feel better. No matter how hard its going to be. I’m tired of being the person who is always there for everyone else, and yet I am constantly lonely. I am tired of crying in the shower or late at night because I am lonely.

I’m so lonely.

I’ve been so lonely sense the death of my best friend. No one understands, and I don’t know how to explain to people, why her death has messed me up so much. I don’t know how to tell people that she was my comfort. I don’t know how I’m suppose to tell people that she was the 17498646_10158508230045381_4974498748359248487_nonly thing on the planet that could calm me down when my anxiety was beating me down, how she was the only reason my depression didn’t consume me – she always knew when I was depressed and she’d curl up in my arms and gently lick away the tears from my face. She was the one thing in this world that I couldn’t imagine losing; and then I lost her. It was so sudden, it was so painful, I didn’t even get to sit with her, tell her I loved her one last time, and comfort her while they ended her suffering. I’m still so angry that I didn’t get the chance to make the decision whether I saw her pass away or not, and I resent my mom because of it. I love my mom, so much, but I hate what she did. I hate that I had to be in the dark about my best friend, and that I was at work while my bug took her last breath. I wish my mom would have allowed me to make the decision, I wish she knew how angry I am at her for taking that away from me. Jayda was more mine to me than just a dog, and I thought my mom knew that; it hurts so much that she doesn’t get it. I wanted to be there, that’s why I stayed up for 3 days making sure she didn’t die alone – yet she still did.  She died in a place that was unfamiliar, with nothing and no one. That breaks my heart more than anything, knowing she was so alone, and I hate myself everyday for it.                    

I just wish I knew why I lost her… She was my baby…

That’s another thing…

I’m almost 27 and I’m no closer to having a baby than I was 5 years ago, actually I was closer 5 years ago, and yet it appears everyone around me are having babies – my sister included.

I love my sister, but she never wanted to be a mom and here she is a mom of almost 3 and I have nothing. I use to dream of being a mom, I use to play house – imagining that I was a house wife and my husband was working – and care for my dolls as though they were real. I took care of my parents friends son when I was 13, and dreamed of the day when I had one of my own – all the while my sister locked herself in her room and would stay far away from children. So why is she the one who gets to have babies, and I’m the one who has Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome? Life’s not fair I suppose…

Ugh, I guess I’ll end this here since I’m rambling..

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Remember in elementary school how they would ask everyone what the wanted to be when they grew up, and we’d whole heartily exclaim that we wanted to be astronauts, lawyers, doctors, ballerinas, cowboys, and Princess’. We’d draw pictures of our future lives and proudly hang them up for the rest of the world to see, we’d dream of the day when we would be grown ups and have careers, and homes, and families.

I remember being a child and thinking that I could not wait for the day that I was an adult, when I could do what I want and do it whenever I chose. Little me never understood that you needed money to do things, and that for you to make money, you must work. I use to think as an adult I would have the ability to stand up for myself, that no one could tell me what I could or could not do, I would not have to listen to other people’s rules, or cower in fear that I would be punished. I never feared adults as a child, I respected my elders and worried about disappointing them, but I never feared adults the way I fear them now. I fear the “women” I work with because their catty remarks and unkind gossip is enough to leave me broken and crying by the end of a week, I fear the repercussion of speaking out against the way things are being taken care of at work, I fear that by speaking “out of turn” I will, without questioning, be out of a job. I fear that I will never be enough for the people that are ranked above me.

As a child, I use to dream of being a mother; of taking care of my home and children, while my husband was working hard for us. I dreamed about being a housewife. Its less disheartening to learn that your childhood career isn’t your right fit, for who do we know that grew up to be an astronaut or a Princess? But, a dream to be a mom and a wife is something that comes so easily to others, and for that dream to be crushed, to surpass your own ‘time line” you conducted in your head, is something that can easily destroy you.

I sit here trying to rack my brain, trying to figure out what I want to go in debt to be. People keep asking me if what I’m going to go to college for because being a sales associate is not what I ever wanted or dreamed to be – would you like a gift receipt feels like my own “would you like fries with that” and its equally demeaning. I usually shrug my shoulders when someone asks what I “want to be”, not because I’m trying to be rude, but because I don’t know. Because what I want to do with my life doesn’t come from a university or college, although it almost should, I would rather stay up all night with a sick baby, than stay up all night cramming for a midterm, and I would rather be exhausted from cleaning my house, and caring for my children than be emotionally drained from work. But without the ability to trust anyone, including myself, how do I expect to fall in love and be a wife and a mom?

***

My life is at a point, a low point, where it feels like nothing will ever get better, I’m angry, hurt, and ready to throw in the towel. I’m angry at the world, at the fact that I tried so hard to be a good person, to help others, and believed that maybe people would do the same to and for me. I’m angry because for years I asked God for strength and healing, only to come to the sobering realization that there isn’t a man above the clouds that somehow hears our silent prayers. He did not heal me when my grandma passed away, or walked beside me the night I was sexually assualted. He didn’t cure my dad, or help us cope, and he stole my best friend. If he’s the one who created life and death, why didn’t he help Jayda, why didn’t he listen to my cries and healed her? Where are these so called miracles? I went to church and Sunday school as a kid, because I wanted to. I talk to god, read the Bible, I believed. I changed my life, all in hopes that this imaginary person would heal me and yet all I’ve received is pain. I’m hurting, between the deafening loneliness that seems to surround me, the realization that I have no true friends, and the fact that I seem to only be enough for my family when I’m doing things for them. Im hurting because no matter what I do it never seems to be enough; Enough for me, enough for anyone. 

And I know none of this is new, but nothing can change if nothing changes, and I don’t even know where or how to change. 

I wish I knew what drove these people who rise up from the flames, what lies in them that allows them to take large leaps of faith, or courage and keep going. Maybe its something they’ve found, maybe they had to hit their lowest point in order to find a way to reach their highs; maybe the universe thinks I haven’t hit my bottom; or maybe subconsciously I don’t think I’ve hit my bottom. I don’t even know what my bottom is.. I feel like I’ve hit bottom so many times already.

I think, or rather maybe I’ve always know, it’s because I still hold on to the possibility that he might one day decide to love me.

Although I know that will never happen

***

I know that by holding on to this made up fairy tale I’m sabotaging a love that could be waiting for me out there. I compare everyone to him, I punish other people because of his words, I assume that everyone feels, thinks, and acts like him; I’m smarter than that though, smart enough to know that not all men are the same, not all men are him. Its difficult for me not to, though, after years of telling myself that he was right and that I was not enough for anyone, it kinda sticks with you, you know? I don’t know why I can’t just cut him out of my life like I have so many people, but I’m tired of hearing about other girls, I’m tired of always being the friend, i’m tired of being reminded that I can’t have the only guy I ever held on to for so long, I’m tired of doing this, 10 years is to long..  I’m just so tired of it all.. 

I need to reevaluate my priorities, my needs, my own happiness and maybe reach within myself and find a way to rise from this sorrow I’ve been wallowing in for far to long.

“From the end of the earth I will cry to You, When my heart is overwhelmed; Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”

– ‭‭Psalms‬ ‭61:2‬ ‭NKJV‬‬

(even though I’m having a hard time believing in God.)

 Until Next time xoxox

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FEB 25TH

Perhaps one day, I’ll wake up and know what it feels like to embrace the day. I’ll know where I’m suppose to be and what I’m suppose to do and my heart will be full.

That’s not today though, I wish it was but it’s not.

Today I woke up angry and sad, feeling belittled and taken advantage of from my work and the people around me. Jealous of the people who are able to put a smile on their faces and img_0710allow love into their hearts. Jealous of the women that are pregnant and in love, jealous of the little families that make their way through the door of my job everyday. Envious of the sweet soul my co-worker has, and the fact that without even trying has landed herself a man who loves her for her. Today I woke up and begged the universe to “not make me” do today. Today I woke up with the feeling of stomach acid and pent up emotions rising up from my stomach. Right now I am unsure of where I am suppose to be, who I’m suppose to be, and where I fit in to this crazy world we live in. My fight or flight instincts are in high alert today and all I want to do is run; run and hide like a small animal trying to escape a hungry lion that wants nothing more than to eat me up in one bite. The world is that lion, my anxiety and depression is that lion, and right now, it’s winning. My head pounds and my eyes hurt from holding back tears, my throat burns with the pain I’m afraid to show because no one understands.

So, I guess once again today won’t be the day that I wake up and embrace the day.

I wish I could explain to everyone how I actually feel and how the emptiness is almost unbearable. I need something or someone who’ll help me get over my past. The things that happened to me, happened so long ago and it’s time for me to move on.

The worst part is that no matter how hard I try to cope with the things I’ve been through, no matter how much I talk about it or how much “power” I take from the situations that haunt me I can’t seem to move on. I can’t seem to look forward into the future, I can’t help but remember the situations and memories that fill every street in this city. I hate that places, smells, and features remind me of the moments I so strongly wish to forget. One day, hopefully, I’ll escape from the hell this place keeps me in. 

Maybe One day…

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Perspective

If you change the way YOU look at things, The things you look at change.

– Unknown

I have written about this before, how I have never really been the type of person who was overly social or keen on meeting people. I was always happy – er, content, with my small group of “friends”. I perceived the people outside of my group as people who wanted to hurt me, or to belittle me; only to find out along the way that the people in “my corner” were the ones who were truly out to hurt, embarrass and belittle me.

I wish I had known earlier the beauty in the world. The beauty that each and every person can bring into it and into my life. I was always so concerned with being a certain way, or not socializing with other people because my “friends” didn’t like them, or thought they were lame, or because the year that we were born weren’t the same. I was naïve in the ways of the world, the real world, and I am grateful for everything and every being that got me this far in life because without them, without the little things that helped me seek help  or face up to the demons that still hide in the corners of my soul and scream at me to be weary of strangers, I wouldn’t of been able to meet the people I know now. Working in retail has taught me a lot, mostly that we cant always judge a person by what we think we know about them. I use to look at someone and judge them based on what they looked like and write them off as weird, or snobby, or some other adjective that didn’t describe their true selves. From co-workers, like one of my most treasured of friends Stephanie, to regulars I can talk to for hours I have been reminded of the beauty and goodness in the world that my pain and past blinded me from. I have had the opportunity to work with people who have opened my eyes in ways I never knew possible. Who changed my opinions of people, who’ve shown me that no matter their nationality or religion there are good and bad people. That we all have something that changed us, some of us have gone through unspeakable things and still see the beauty in the world; those people are my heros.

But that’s not the point I’m trying to get at.

I have looked at men and judged them based on the few unsavory characters I have allowed into my life and head. I judge people I don’t know based on the people I know, and the things men have said to me in regards to women. I allow the things that others have done blind me from realizing that just because I have been hurt in the arms of many men not all men are the same. I fail to recognize effort, I allow my assumptions to cause problems, and I throw away good things before they even get the chance to become anything. My perspective of men are that they are all the same, all liars and cheaters who drink to much and proclaim their love to girls who take it too seriously. That they make bets and joke about women, that men aren’t concerned with building anything real anymore. I fear men, I fear their touch, I fear allowing them into my life because trusting men has caused me more anxiety and emotional distress then I’d like to admit. But this is also hurting me. The loneliness that comes hand in hand with trust issues is enough to make anyone go crazy. Its human nature to want to be close to someone, it has been scientifically proven that hugging or being close to someone you love and trust can lower anxiety and increase oxytocin, and because I am fearful of being close to anyone my mental well being is being significantly impacted. But I still, after 12 years, have no idea how to move on from my past.

There’s this girl I work with, she’s a refugee of two different wars. She was born in Iraq to a family who are Christian and from the tiny amount of information she’s told me life was far from easy. She told me that because her family was Christian her father received death threats from people who followed the other religion almost daily. I wanted to cry for her, for all the pain that she must have went through. She told me they fled to Syria in hopes that they would be able to live a safer life; but it wasn’t. She told me that she wasn’t aloud to go to school because her parents feared that she would get hurt, that she would be somewhere and it would be bombed. They waited for 5 years before north America would accept their family as refugees and on the day they were suppose to leave the air port was bombed. She’s only 22 and she has witnessed so much death and trauma and yet she is still happy, and smiling and still believes in god and the goodness in the world. I wish I had her will to live and her disposition.

I think I really need to buckle down and work on myself, and the things insecurities I have so I can move on with life.

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That night..

Living through a traumatic or stressful experience hits people in different ways, we may suppress our feelings, we may deal with them and heal properly, or we may break.

[Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault]

I’ve talked about it a lot, wrote endless posts about ryan and what he did to me; but I’ve never really addressed the toll it took on me emotionally, physically and psychologically. When I was sexually assaulted I was thrown into a whirlwind of emotions. Not just because of what happened either.

I was 16, its been ten years and I haven’t been able to form a meaningful relationship since the night I lost sight of who I was. Beyond the crippling feeling associated with being assaulted, I hurled myself into the dark hole that has become my life. I thought that because my “friends” didn’t believe me, including the one person who was lying in that bed with me, no one would. My mom would say I was just drunk and because he was native people would assume that I asked for it, or perhaps that I lead him on. Those thoughts often run through my mind, maybe I did lead him on, but whether I lead him on or not I said no. I pushed his hands away and I said no. I wanted to sleep, that’s all and so I was the only one who convinced him to get out of the bed my “friend” and I were sleeping in, while two grown men watched on. I was the one who got him to the couch and then ran to the bedroom to lock the door. I was alone from that night on.

I suppressed myself, I suppressed the memories of that night as much as I could. I tried with all my energy to ignore the pounding in my head and the triggers and memories that enclosed around me. Until I couldn’t take it anymore, until the walls around me began to close in and I avoided people and places that he knew and went to. I avoided the world. I lived in a make believe world on the internet, where I could pretend I was happy, full of life and unharmed. I flirted and engaged with men on the internet, I took pictures that showed a side of me that wasn’t really there. I did not feel sexual, I did not feel like a normal 17 year old, or 18, or frankly today an almost 26 year old. I lost all need for intimacy and for sex, I began feeling as though I was broken, that he had turned off a switch most humans (and dolphins) have. It was hard enough when I was just living with the fact that my ex boyfriend came out after I lost my virginity to him but now I was broken goods, I was used and abused and afraid to tell anyone. I couldn’t tell my friends that the reason I dropped out of school and couldn’t come back was because being in that school, the school his picture hung on the wall of, was more difficult then I imagined. And I couldn’t explain to them why, at times, I was unreachable. Why I went months and years before I would work up the courage to see them again. They did not know me, this me, and I didn’t give them the chance to. I hid away so much that even my mom, dad and sister rarely saw me for more than 10 minutes. I stayed in my dark room for days, with my laptop and my fake smile photos and slept all day. I often thought about ending it all, it would be easier, it would be peaceful and I would be free. I would be free. Over the span of 6 years I watched as the world turned and aged around me and I felt as though I was trapped in the same place and time I was shortly after that night. I lived in a constant state of fear, fearful of being touched, being within two feet of a male. I was fearful of someone seeing it in my eyes that my world had gone black. I began to lash out in anger, I banged on doors trying to break them down, I told my pregnant sister I was gonna kick her in the stomach, I resented the world. I sat alone in my room and saw pictures and videos of other people living life, having babies, falling in love and I hated them all. I hated the fact that because I didn’t know how to heal, I didn’t have the courage to face what had happened that night, I wasn’t able to move on. I wasn’t able to fall in love, or trust someone. I felt stripped of the one thing all these girls were taking advantage of – being a mother. I can’t proclaim that it was only his touch made me this way, because there are girls and guys out there that have been sexually assaulted who have sex more, have kids from different dads, but my own self hatred over what I allowed to happen that night, the fact that I didn’t trust anyone to talk about it, I allowed his memories and his touch eat me alive and change the person I was suppose to become.

I realise now that the sexual assault was the first of many things I couldn’t heal from.

I didn’t know how to be happy, or how to move on from things, I still don’t. I didn’t know how to put my anger and pain aside to be happy for my sister and my friends when they had their first bundle of joys. I wasn’t able to put aside my selfish emotions long enough to be genuinely happy for anyone. I lost sight of my own health and I gained weight I still can’t lose. I hated myself more with everyday that passed, every pound I gained, every night I laid in bed and visions of that night circled in my mind. I just assumed I was depressed. I assumed a lot of things, okay I assume a lot of things. It hasn’t changed. Nothing has changed. I am still that 16 year old girl who was to scared to do anything about the night I was ruined. I speak about it, but I’ve never confronted the people that were involved, I suppressed my voice on subjects that needed to be expressed in a hopes that I would never be put in the position where I wouldn’t be believed – because I never told people my thoughts, my opinions, I never expressed my voice. I allowed the boy who molested me add me on facebook, and while he had no idea how broken I had become with every message he sent me asking me to hang out, I marinated in the pain. With every asd.pngmessage the pain sunk deeper into me, with every “wanna grab a coffee” the memories and smells and feelings rushed back to me. I couldn’t move, I cried, I froze, I wanted to scream but had no way of explaining it to my mom had she heard. I cut myself hoping it would stop, but he still continued to message me. I finally blocked him from ever messaging me again, in hopes that if I was not readily available he could not make his way into my life. But I was wrong I was wrong to think that just because I was able to block him on social media I was blocking him from my life. He started messaging me on any form of social media or dating sites (which I made in hopes of finding a person who would help me heal) reopening a healing wound. He referred to that night as a little mistake or something he didn’t remember and my entire body shook in anger, in fear, in realizing that he will never admit to being or doing wrong. And I know that I must forgive someone who will never apologize and I must grow from this experience but with every minute that goes by, and every memory that resurfaces I lose hope and manifest in this anger and pain.

People have often asked and wondered why losing Jayda was so much more traumatic for me than losing my dad, and I tell them because she was always here. I tend to leave out that she was my comfort, she calmed me down and kissed(licked) away my tears. I would snuggle up with her and stroke her soft fur and it felt safe. I felt like no one and nothing could hurt me in that moment. That’s why it hurts so much. I am now without the only thing that kept me alive in the darkest days. I stayed alive because I didn’t want Jayda to be alone, I am still here because of her; and I failed to keep her here. But that’s a whole other story. I guess it was the fact that she would lay with me and I had someone who always wanted to be next to me, even to the point that she would sleep inside a sweater or zip up jacket. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I miss having someone close to me, and I think that is the worst part of all of this. The fact that being physically and emotionally close to someone scares me beyond belief now. I use to love to be close to people, to hug my friends, to interlock arms while we walked anywhere, hug people, be near people; and now the only person I get that close to are my nephews and sometimes my mom. I miss the feeling of a strong, steady arm holding me, that sense of security and love. Now if an arm goes near me I flinch in remembrance of that night. I forget what its like to look into the eyes of a man and feel love, and the gentle touch of a hand while watching a movie or driving. I miss being able to feel calm in the presence of a man. I miss being kissed, I miss the rush that goes with new love, and those feelings that could almost make you sick. I miss love.

I know I need to face the people and things that hurt me, I know I need to stop living in the past and suppressing who I am, but knowing and doing are two drastically different things and I don’t know how to fix the way my brain has adapted to my trauma. I don’t know how to fix the scar the molestation left on my soul, or how to love another man when I’ve always been hurt.

***

Creator,

I pray to you in hopes that you can lead me towards the path of healing. That one day I will be free of the pain that started in the hands of a boy who was lost. I pray for the strength to forgive him for his wrong doings, to move on from the darkness of my past, and to grow into someone who perceivers through the pain.

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