“Why aren’t you sticking up for yourself!!!  Why don’t you say anything, say something instead of just sitting there.”  I keep sitting there, saying nothing, my head is bobbing back and forth now and then because it’s 2 fucking o’clock in the morning and she’s been yelling at me for hours.  I can’t even remember what I did that caused this tirade.  Lecture lecture lecture….all night long.  “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”  “Does it matter? Anything I say is wrong anyway. It’s your way or the highway.”  “Go to your room!!”

I’m sleeping for a short time in between throwing up and listening to my brother cry in his crib.  My mom decides I need to go to the emergency room to see what is wrong and why I can’t stop vomiting.  She forces me to remove my pajama bottoms so the doctor can “examine” me.  I feel completely mortified, but in a six year old mind, that word doesn’t exist yet. I hear her ask the doctor if he thinks I’ve been molested.  He says no.  They come to the conclusion that I have a bladder infection and give me medication to treat it.  Forward to some future time and I am sitting in the living room, still in my pajamas, and I hear her and her husband yelling and screaming at each other.  I just sit there being very quiet.  They come out into the living room continuing to fight and they are standing there right in front of me.  I remember now feeling like I was a visitor in the room, that I wasn’t there.  Then her husband draws his hand back, making a fist, and punches her in her pelvic area. I hear her breath gush out, and she collapses to the floor, unconscious. He stands there for a minute and then picks her up and takes her to the bedroom, I’m assuming to lay her on the bed.  He returns to the living room and tells me to “come here and lets put your shoes on”.  So I do as I am told.  My mom wakes up and comes into the living room and takes me from him.  My memory stops at that point. I remember nothing else.

I am now sitting in the living room of the apartment and my little brother is screaming his head off in his crib.  My mother is sitting with me watching tv.  I get up and say “Jesus Christ” and go and shut my brothers bedroom door to try to drown out his crying. My mother yells at me to never that say again and that it was wrong for me to do so.  But I had heard her do it, so I thought it was ok.  Nothing follows that memory either.  I do feel now as an adult, a guilt at trying to shut my baby brother out…but at the time I did not know…I did not know.  It haunts me to this day.

First grade.  Alexandria, Virginia.  We are writing the alphabet on the chalk board and I asked the teacher if I could go to the bathroom because I had to go really bad.  She wouldn’t let me go until I was finished writing my letters.  I stood there and urinated down my leg because I couldn’t hold it any longer.  I felt embarrassed and humiliated. But again, my first grade mind could not assimilate those words to feelings. I lived with my grandparents and their home was less than an block away from school.

I loved it at my grandparents house.  I had lived there since I was about 1 year old, other than short visits with my mother.  I was happy, at least that’s what I felt like, my heart felt good when I was with them.  I rode my horse on the weekends and had a very close relationship with them.

I was asleep in my granddads bed when grandma came and woke me up telling me that my mother was there and it was time to go to her house.  She arrived with her new boyfriend, and had decided that I was going to come and live with her full time now, instead of living with my grandparents. I did not know my mother, I knew she was my mother, but I didn’t know her, and I sure didn’t know the man she was with.  But I had to go anyway, and I hated it.  I wanted to stay with my grandparents.

We lived in a few different houses in the DC metro area.  There was a green one with a huge yard and I remember playing outside in the mud and hunting for bones in the yard.  The house was haunted.  Even as a child I knew what I felt and knew what I had seen was not of this world.  Dark shadows in the basement, hearing “things”.  I remember the house always smelling of cigarette smoke and that things were in disarray. I remember having to do the dishes and the laundry.  I couldn’t reach the sink so I had to stand on a chair to do the job.  We had a really pretty Irish Setter named Seamus and a dog named Punchout.  I’m not sure why her name was Punchout, but she was a little black lab mix that my mom had picked up from the pound.  A lot of her life was spent on a chain tied to her dog house or to a tree.  She would get tangled up around the tree or her dog house and I would untangle her a lot.  I remember her coming into the house some, probably more than what I remember, but the biggest memory is of her on a chain.  My heart breaks when I think of it now.

One evening we;  my mom, brother, myself, and her husband, arrived home from somewhere that I don’t remember, to find their bedroom totally destroyed.  Curtains were torn from the windows, mini blinds were broken and ripped from the window, a huge standing mirror was broken in half.  You know those big, thick mirrors that attach to the wall or a big dresser. The bed linens were strewn about, things knocked off of the chest of drawers and small items broken.  It literally looked like a tornado had hit the room and tossed everything everywhere.  My mom called the cops and they did some kind of investigation, but there was never a conclusion as to what happened.  I’ve always wondered about it.

I hated it there, but being a small child, I didn’t know what hate was.  It was just a feeling.

We moved from the green house to the white house. ( At least I think it was in that order.  We had also lived in a townhouse for a short amount of time, but that memory is not clear.)  The white house was a three bedroom, two bath white painted brick house.  It had a big backyard with an old filled in pool.  The school I attended was about three blocks from my house.  I remember going to enroll myself in school when I was in third or fourth grade.  Mom was asleep and told me I could go do it myself.  At some point my mom decided we were going to start going to church.  She chose the Mormon church that was fairly close to our house, though I don’t remember the exact location.  I didn’t like going to church, there were too many people and we had to sit for what seemed like hours listening to sermons.  It was uncomfortable for me, and all I wanted was to go be with my grandparents.

I spent a lot of time outside playing, and staying in my room.  I had to do the dishes and laundry, but the laundry never seemed to end.  (This is my memory as a child.)  My mom didn’t like it that I wanted to be with my grandparents.  She would say things to me like “your grandfather is poisoning your mind.” And “has your grandfather touched you in the wrong ways?” I would always say no, because he never did, he was always loving and good to me. I didn’t know why she would ask me things like that.  As an adult I see now that she was looking for reasons to keep me away from him, and trying to turn me against him.  After a weekend visit with my grandparents, I arrived home excited because they had bought me a Barbie doll, and I had never had one.  I ran in the house and showed my mom, and she yelled at me that I was a “spoiled rotten kid and that I get anything I want from my grandparents.” She went to her room and brought out a Barbie that she stated she had bought for me, but now it’s ruined because I’m a brat and I get anything I want from my grandparents.  I felt so guilty that I didn’t play with the Barbie my granddad had bought me.  I thought I had done something wrong.

My memories of those years following was that of sadness and hopelessness.  My mom married her boyfriend, and he adopted us so we could take his last name.  My biological father had been convinced to sign over his parental rights, and my brothers father never made an appearance, so the judge granted the adoption.  I was supposed to be excited, and I acted the part, but inside I really didn’t care.  I felt like I was just a bit of dust floating in my life.  I remember feeling nothing.  The only thing that made me happy was my dog and riding horses. I was good at it too.   My mother had adopted another dog from the pound, and she became mine.  I had her until I was in my 20’s.  She was such a good girl.

After a weekend visit with my grandparents, we arrived back at the “white” house to find a uhaul packed and ready to go.  I didn’t even get to go inside the house.  My grandparents dropped us off and we got in the car and left.  Just literally left.  We drove to Kansas. I was in junior high by this point and had shut out all feelings about anything and anyone….it was the only way I could survive.

We made it to Hutchinson Kansas.  I got enrolled in junior high and continued on feeling nothing.  I spent a lot of time with my dogs and trying to stay away from my mother.  They ended up buying a house in a small town outside of Hutchinson where I attended all four years of high school.  In retrospect, moving to a small town was probably the thing that kept me alive.  I was terrified of people, other kids, adults and going to a big school, with armed guards would not have been good for me (the junior high school that I attended in the DC Metro had 1400 kids for two grades and we had armed guards patrolling the halls).  I was so terrified of everything and everyone.  Going to a smaller school was better for me, though the fear was still there, it wasn’t as overwhelming.

I began to learn about myself, albeit it was all on my mothers terms.  I had to think, feel, and speak what she wanted.  She forced me to write a letter to my grandparents telling them that I didn’t want a relationship with them anymore.  I remember feeling so utterly helpless, as she was literally standing over me telling me what to write and how to write it.  I felt horrible. I hoped that they didn’t believe it, and was glad to find out years later that they didn’t believe a word I wrote. (Thank God).

My mother and step dad fought a lot.  Loud, yelling, screaming physical fights.  I would sit at the top of the stairs listening to them fight, feeling afraid and confused at the same time.  I didn’t have a relationship with my step dad other than cordial niceness.  I didn’t consider him my dad, but mom wanted me to call him dad, so I did.  He was a nice guy looking back, and I feel kind of bad for him for what he went through.  Though there is always two sides to every story.  When I was a sophomore they divorced.  I heard different stories as to why, but honestly I didn’t really care.  At that time in my life, mom started doing her own thing.  I started drinking a lot of beer and wow, did it ever allow me to feel free. I spent one summer with my grandparents, working my first job at Sears in DC, and spending every single day at the stables riding my horse.  That was one of the best summers ever.  EVER.  I came back to Kansas after the summer and started school, I think I was a sophomore.  The divorce and that summer blends together, so my timing is off a bit.

My grandparents came out to visit the following summer, I believe, and they bought me my first car.  It was an 85 Mustang. I had to get a job to pay for gas, but it was freedom for me that I needed.  I was still very much under my mothers thumb, but she loosened up a bit.  I had a curfew of 1:00 am on weekends and I think 10 or 12 on week nights.  On the weekends I started drinking beer with friends and was rarely home.  I could drink a lot.  We would drive to Hutchinson and cruise main street.  LOL…I think of it now and it seems like forever ago.  I was 17 when I got my car.  I used to skip school with my own hand written notes from “my mom”.  I hated school, but knew I had to go.

One of my best friends, “Angie”, and I would go out like clock work on Friday and Saturday nights.  We did stupid shit, like pee in peoples garages and throw beer bottles at signs.  I am so lucky we never got caught.  (Thank goodness there wasn’t social media at that time!)  She had heard of a ski trip to Colorado with a bunch of people that we knew, and we were invited to go. So on a dark night we packed my car with our stuff, and headed to Colorado.  It was one big party going on all weekend.  I remember a guy that I knew was there, who lived in the same town I lived.  I was a virgin at the time and he took me to the bedroom and proceeded to rape me.  I remember I kept telling him “no, no”, but he held me down and penetrated me anyway.  By this time I was good at shutting down all feelings and emotions.  I didn’t even know what had happened until he was done and got up and laughed because he had my blood on his genitalia. I wasn’t aware until after the fact, that there was also another guy in the room while he was raping me. To speak of it now brings back memories that I had long suppressed.  Some how I blamed myself because I was there, and because I was drinking, and because I thought I had “wanted” it.  The rest of the night and day went on like nothing ever happened.  I told my friend about it, but she didn’t seem worried.  We ended up leaving early because she got in a fight with a guy that she thought she was with, but wasn’t, so the trip was over and we were headed home. I remember feeling so sore in my vaginal area for days following.  I remember thinking that he must like me because after the trip he would call and show up at my house drunk.  I found out later that the whole time he was coming over to see me, he was engaged to be married.

Backtrack to my very first love.  Oh boy how I loved him.  I’ll call him “John”.  “John” was two years older than I was and we went to school together.  I didn’t even know that I loved him, just how I felt when he looked at me and when he talked to me.  He’d give me a ride home sometimes and I would get so nervous, I couldn’t talk.  My mom didn’t allow me to date, so when we did get to be together, it was short and in secret.  Time went on, and he graduated and I was left there without him.  Keep in mind that I was still trying to figure out who I was aside from the control that my mom had on me.  I remember hugging him at his graduation and crying…which NEVER happened.  He held me tight and just said my name.  He went on to get married and moved two blocks down the street from me, and I continued to drink a lot of beer to escape reality.

My mom had started living her single life about the time I was a junior.  She really didn’t care what I did as long as I called in and was home by curfew.  There were a few times that when I got home, she was home and just as drunk as I was.  I even brought home rape guy one night and she didn’t even know. (I shouldn’t say “rape guy”, but I don’t really think I can put a name to him at this point.  Maybe later.) I used to have parties at my house and we’d all just get drunk and play quarters.  It seemed that was all my last two years of high school consisted of….getting drunk.  Drinking numbed any and all pain I had.

A “drunk” story that comes to mind is one Saturday night in Hutchinson.  My friend and I had been in town hanging out with friends and drinking, go figure.  We were at “Todd’s” apartment, laughing and generally havning a good time,  and the guy that I was supposedly seeing, was getting ready to leave.  He was REALLY drunk.  (Earlier that night I had gotten pulled over by the police for crossing the white dotted line that separates two lanes going the same direction.  I pulled over, and of course we had beer in the car. I was 17 and my friend was 18.  Legal drinking age was 21.  Anyway, I didn’t have a record, and the good cop made me poor my beer out, and let me go with a reckless driving ticket.  Thank goodness…but times were different then.  After that is when we were hanging out at “Todd’s” and my “boyfriend” was getting ready to head home.)  He wanted me to ride with him but I hesitated and said no, and that I would follow him to his house.  So off we went down the road.  He was driving like a bat out of hell, and I lost sight of him, but because I knew the way to his house, I kept going.  When I got to his house, he wasn’t there.  This was back before cell phones, so I couldn’t call him or text to see what was going on.  I just figured he went somewhere else, and I went home.  The next morning my mom came to get me telling me that he had rolled his truck and was in ICU in the hospital.  He had turned on a dirt road that ran parallel to the highway I took, and laid in the road for about three hours before someone found him.  I didn’t think to take the dirt road because I had sobered up.  He was drunk and wanted to stay off the highway.  I drove right by him.  I didn’t know he was bleeding all over the road, unconscious.   I felt horrible.  One drunk memory I wish I could erase. He lived and was ok, but he suffered some serious injuries. It wasn’t his time to go, thank goodness.

My life starts to get more independent my senior year of high school.  Or more out of control, depending on how you look at it.  Remember my first love?  Well, he was getting a divorce and started coming around, or should I say we all started partying together.  I still loved him so much.  But it was a seriously fucked up situation.  My mom was partying with me…yea…kind of weird.  Or not, depends on what you think.  We were all supposed to go to Oklahoma for something…I’m not sure why, but I had to work.  So my mother took off with my boyfriend, if that’s what you want to call him, given the situation, and went to Oklahoma.  With my boyfriend. I can’t believe I’m saying it out loud.  I couldn’t believe it. I still sorta can’t believe it.  My flipping mother got drunk and ran off to Oklahoma with my so called boyfriend.  HUH??    Moving on…I found out that my “boyfriend” was seeing another girl.  Through all of us partying together I found out that he really cared for her, more than he cared for me. So I broke up with him and told him to pursue his relationship with her and that I was happy for them both.  Time marched on, and as many things do, they fell apart due to alcohol.  Ironically her and I became best friends throughout the situation.  I told her that I knew about her, and that he loved her and to get after it.  It didn’t work thanks to strippers, coke and booze, but such is life with piles of shit in it. She and I are, and will always remain very close friends.

My life for a while was kind of a blur.  I met, married and divorced my daughters father.  Married someone else and got beat up, divorced. Met married and divorced my sons father….though that was a marriage I did not want to end, but it had to.  At this point I am not sure if those details need to be out there, so I will refrain, just to say it was a very heart breaking time in my life and it screwed me up more than I already was.  My children were growing and I realized I had no education, and no money and could barely make ends meet.  I started college at the age of 28, and I loved it.  I love learning. I started partying again on the weekends I didn’t have the kids, but it was a bit more “responsible” now.  Those times were fun, though I always had a nagging sorrow within myself that I couldn’t get rid of with anything or anyone.  I was date raped again. I don’t even remember his name. How sad is that.  Then I met a man that I truly loved.  We married and were together a short three years.  That divorce destroyed me for almost ten years.  It was stupid and we were young and didn’t know what the fuck we were doing. Of course hind sight is 20/20, but we should have communicated, and worked harder on our marriage.  In the end things came to some closure and I remained friends with him and even introduced him to another one of my closest friends, and they have been happy together for almost a decade now.  But I remember how hard it was and what mistakes I made, and learned valuable lessons from those mistakes.  Have I applied all those lessons?  Definitely not, but I’m learning.

In the summer of 2006 I met and started dating a man that treated me well and seemed to take care of me.  Soon after being involved with him I realized that he was an alcoholic and had a continuing relationship with his ex wife that he hid from me. He had raped me more than once by this time.    I was so emotionally brain washed and under his control that I found it impossible to remove myself from the situation.  He would drink, pass out, and during the awake times he was mean.  He traveled for work and I would travel on the weekends to visit him, do his laundry, cook and clean.  During one of these weekends, he became drunk as usual, and of course I was drinking, but it was 4 o’clock in the afternoon and I wasn’t done eating and drinking.  So with some of his work buddies, we went to a local dive bar and continued to drink and laugh and have a good time.  My guy had awakened from his “nap” and found that I wasn’t in the hotel room.  (By this point we all had cell phones.)  He messaged me stating that he was throwing my belongings out in the parking lot and that I needed to leave.  Of course I told the guys that we had to head back to the room, knowing full well what was in store when I got there.  “Frank” was in a rage.  He was yelling and screaming at me accusing me of fucking everyone and telling me to leave.  So when I said “ok I’m leaving”, he then refused to let me leave the hotel room.  He somehow took the battery out of my truck and hid it from me, and physically restrained me in the room.  We were arguing and I just wanted to step outside to try to cool off, but he would not let me.  Then I did something I’ve never done, and I don’t even know how, or what I was thinking.  I don’t think I was thinking at all, it was instinct.  I hauled off and punched him in his nose and broke it. He then threw me on the bed, but I was able to get out the door after that.  You want to know the messed up thing about the whole situation?  He thought it was funny the next day.  All of his crew were laughing about it giving him shit.  One of them told me they’d give me fifty bucks if I’d do it again. What the hell???  I was not raised in a physical violent way, though I witnessed it a lot.  For some reason, I stayed with him.  I felt like I couldn’t get out.  I was able to get a job with the company he worked for, as his helper a couple months later.  I thought it would be good for me and the kids because the pay was outrageously high, and I thought I could save enough money to get ahead and then go back to a normal job.  That was not the case. Prior to me getting the job, I traveled another weekend to where he was working.  I had been at the state fair with friends, and had text messaged him telling him that I was going to be heading his way with a few things he had stated that he needed.  I messaged him and called three times, but got no answer.  I just figured he was drunk and or passed out.  When I arrived at his hotel, I put the card in the lock and opened the door to find him in bed with another woman, both of them were naked and all the lights were on.  This is when I learned that I am not a sociopath.  I could have done all kinds of things, but all I did was yell and scream and tell her to leave.  He was so drunk, that he just laid on the bed, with nothing on looking at me. I had to tell him to get some clothes on.  Did I leave him then?  No.  I stayed on and started working with him.  I thought to myself…”other people make it work even when there’s an affair, I can try to make it work.”  When we traveled to the next job, she was there.  I was expected to work with her like nothing had ever happened.  I tried.  I really did.  But I couldn’t bring myself to stand next to her and do the job.  That job ended and we were sent to another state to work.  I thought, “ok, I’ll keep trying, I won’t have to see her.”  Wrong again.  She was there on the job too.  At this point I was becoming increasingly angry at everything.  I found out what hotel she was staying at, and I called her and asked her what her problem was.  (She had previously told “Frank” to tell ME to keep my mouth shut about finding them in bed together, because she was worried they would lose their jobs….WTF) When I spoke with her on the phone I suggested that if she had something to say about me, that she say it to my face.  The next morning I had had enough.  I couldn’t stay there, or stay with him because it was just too much for me to handle.  I told “Frank” that I was packing my shit and going home. He told me that he wouldn’t let me.  I had to plan and sneak around and wait until he was passed out before I could leave.  I had my stuff in my truck and said I was taking the dog out, and jumped in, and didn’t look back.  “Frank” became violent and belligerent. He knew he couldn’t drive, which played in my favor.  But the following months he stalked me, tried to break into the house, and finally did accomplish breaking in one morning about 4:30.  I had been on a date with someone else, and he confronted us at the bar.  He then parked his truck and was watching the house from the road.  I was at the house with my date and we ended up in bed.  “Frank” broke into the house and listened to me having sex with my date, before he walked into the bedroom.  My date said “honey, there’s someone standing in the doorway.”  I instinctively knew who it was and reached for my phone.  I called 911 and my date and “Frank” began fighting.  “Frank” was subsequently arrested and held on a 12,700 bail.  He was to leave me alone when he was released but within hours he was stalking me and calling me again.  He hired a hot shot attorney and his charges were plead down to person misdemeanors from person felonies, with the exception that if he did anything ever again, he would go to prison and be charged as a felon.

The years after 2006 are jumbled and I have blocked times and dates out.  I remember the instances, but I really have to sit down and concentrate to put the dates to them.  I had met another man who I dated off and on for four years, who raped me and beat me as well.  This was after 2006.  He has threatened to kill me.  I cannot speak of that situation with him because it is simply too much.  Right now he is in federal prison.  I wish he would stay there, but he will be released within the year. I was called as a victim witness in his trial for charges against another woman.  There were four of us that testified against him.  He was convicted of rape, drug and weapons charges but only got 18 months with credit time served.  He beat her almost to death and had it not been for her self defense training and her will to survive, she would have died.  He has committed numerous war crimes and is a person of interest in a Korean civilian womans death.  I am afraid of him, but I swear he will never hurt me again.

Why?  I ask myself this question sometimes.  I have chronic post traumatic stress disorder, major depressive disorder with morbid thoughts, anxiety disorder, agoraphobia, and GAD.  Physically I have fibromyalgia, celiac, IBS, and inflammatory arthritis.  I’m not a person to feel self pity very often.  I don’t think it’s productive.  But sometimes I ask myself why I can’t just have a “normal” life.  But really, what is a normal life?  I cycle through these episodes of debilitating fear, usually losing a job because I can’t leave the house.  I have self mutilated to try to take my mind off of the emotional pain that I can NEVER seem to escape.  I have had a plan to end my life.  I have spent four separate mental health inpatient visits in four different hospitals. I struggle financially because I can’t hold a job long enough to be able to pay the rent.  I was homeless for a short time in 2011…I’ve literally lost everything that ever meant anything to me.  People tell me I’m strong, but I don’t feel strong, I feel weak and like a failure. I am depressed most of the time, though I try to do things that bring me joy and happiness when I can.  Those things take money though, and you guessed it, I don’t have much of that. In reality, I don’t want much…I don’t feel I need a lot of materialistic things to be happy. I have awesome friends and an awesome support network, but still feel like a burden.  But some days it’s just not enough and it’s a struggle for me to want to live. Like today, and yesterday and the day before. It’s exhausting and frustrating.  I have a lot to be thankful for in my life, one is that I woke up this morning.  I have beautiful children and a simply adorable grandbaby that I love with all my heart.  I have a roof over my head, food to eat, dogs to help me and keep me company and a cat that thinks he’s a dog.  I have friends that listen to my bullshit, but are patient with me, but I am stuck in this mind that is constantly fighting against me.

A few weeks ago I found out that a dear and sweet friend took her own life.  I swear I thought I wasn’t going to make it.  I heard her laughing and looked at her pictures on facebook and was overcome with a darkness that I have never felt before.  It is slowly lessening but it is still there, this darkness.  I logically know that she is gone, but my heart still can’t believe it.  Sometimes I feel her near me and fully expect to turn around and see her standing there. I have lost three other friends in the past two years, but her death is devastating to me.  I’ll be honest, I have thought about taking my own life these past few weeks.  I know it’s selfish, and I have told no one about that. It just seems surreal to me that she put her 44 mag to her face and pulled the trigger.  During these past few weeks I have experienced spiritual communication.  I have a spiritual advisor to help me understand what I have been going through and this part of the story may seem unreal or outlandish to some, but it is the truth and I am going through it daily.

My advisor explained to me that I am doing something called lucid dreaming.  For the past six months or so I am “awakened” by slow, mumbling voices.  The first time I heard it I thought… “Welp, that’s it, you have officially lost your mind.” Though instinctively I knew it was spiritual, I just couldn’t understand what was going on.  She explained to me that mediums, and psychics are able to control the slower brain waves during sleep, and it allows them to be in touch with spirit during that time.  I am “asleep”, but awake, and what I am hearing is spirit trying to communicate with me.  Because I am still learning about all of this, it just sounds like a whole bunch of people in the same room trying to talk quietly all at the same time. It’s not scary, just confusing.  I’ve been so consumed with grief from my friends suicide, that I was unaware of what was happening.  I am still learning about all of this and my understanding is getting better. I don’t know how it is all going to play out, but I want it to play out.  Only in a positive way, as the spirit world doesn’t only consist of good things, but there are bad things out there as well.  Learning to protect myself and be open to what is happening is part of the process I’m going through.  I FEEL everything so much. I’m sure I’m not the only one who is like that.  Being empathetic can be a gift and a curse at the same time and because of that I have learned to become numb to anything and anyone. I don’t want to be numb though it takes a tremendous amount of energy when I allow those walls to come down and to be a living feeling human being.  My go-to defense is to shut the door and I feel that is making me a jaded person and I don’t want that for what is the rest of my life.  I hoping spirit work can help with my anxiety, depression, etc.  I’ve been an anxious person since I was a child and I directly relate it to spirit.

Speaking of spirit, I have been physically attacked by negative energies during my life, starting at a young age.  I was physically held down when I was about 9.  When I was about 38 I was awakened by heavy hands holding me down in my bed.  This went on for about 10 minutes.  It finally went away.

So how does this play into my life?  The fuck if I know. I’m trying to grab all the positives that I am exposed to. Sometimes I don’t practice healthy coping skills, I’ll admit. But I’m human, I’m imperfect, I scare myself sometimes.  Currently as I am writing this, I am isolating myself from everyone and everything that is near and dear to me because I feel like my struggles are a burden to others.  I’ve found that when I express so much dysfunction to others they get tired of hearing it.  It’s like the boy who cried wolf.  I feel like they are thinking…”oh here she goes again, one of her freak out sessions.” I feel that way too..like I’m just freaking out for no reason, but there is a reason.

My mind is in constant vigilance, and my thoughts race and it’s hard to slow them down.  I’m sure there’s a label for that, but I can’t remember what my therapist has told me about it. Mental illness is a real thing, and it needs to be destigmatized. It needs to be understood and made real.  So many others go through traumatic experiences and it damages them permanently for life. Some take their own life, like my dear friend.  I’ve gone through the “what could I have done”, and “what did I miss”.  But I missed something, I feel like I failed her as a friend, and now there’s nothing I can do about it, she’s gone, forever.  I feel like I want to be gone forever, but I’m still going to push as hard as I can to make it.