Disclaimer!

“I created this blog as a coping mechanism to deal with things in my life that unfortunately continue to haunt me in the present day. If you choose to read this, there may be some content and vocabulary that is graphic and it certainly may not be acceptable to everyone’s tastes.”

“My goal is not to gain attention or sympathy for the unfortunate personal events that have held me captive in my life. But instead, my goal is to hopefully help people, if even just one person, to see that they are not alone. I encourage others to comment and add their stories or experiences in an attempt to deal with their past in hopes of clearing the mind for a hopeful future.”

A young woman decided to share some of her story.

When I was a girl, of maybe just 10, possibly younger. My “grandfather”, came into the room I was napping in. He laid down, under the covers. He somehow took his clothes off. He started to force me to give him a handjob. I honesty was clueless as to what was happening. Just knew I was uncomfortable, but too afraid to say anything.

This proceeded a few more times, then he made me suck his dick and made me swallow. The last time he told me never to tell anyone.

I was too scared or ashamed to ever say anything, it makes me feel disgusting. I know there were a few more things, but I block it out, I don’t want to remember.

This is someone else’s story not mine.

Hurt.

Greatest song ever!

The imperfections of a dying man

triforce_complete:love exists only as a thought, a believe, something to hope for but it in its self does not exist

ffkiller86:I think it’s possible to want someone in every way

I believe love exist

But I think enable to love you’ve got to want loved and love yourself as well

Like me I say I want loved but my actions in relationships have shown other wise because I don’t love myself and cherish what love has to offer

I am not bitter at love

I am bitter at myself

For letting go when I should have held on

I’ve never be able to truly let go of myself and allow myself to be loved or to love myself

I am not sure if I’ll ever get there

I’m scared I’ll never be able to love

I can’t let go of that control

Don’t think I could ever be that vulnerable

I’d rather die than give you control.

I am so afraid of being close to anyone that I treat everyone like shit

I am so protected over myself
And for what?

Scared of being hurt. Scared of rejection

I’m caught up in what makes me insecure that I can’t see the good things about myself

Pull this dagger from my heart and don’t stop the bleeding

My life to this point has been a joke to say it at best.
I’ve never known how to live life.
How to act around people.
I’ve always felt misplaced
Like I didn’t belong.

In fact I was different I didn’t take the same outlets some people take.
I didn’t turn to drugs or alcohol.
Instead I physically closed myself off.
Shut myself up in a room,
The only place where I felt safe at.
Stuck myself into video games and watch the years go by,
Without every saying a word about what happened.
Until I told my dad.

For the years after,
I’ve done the same thing that I was doing back then.
This time the video games didn’t exist.
I lost myself in working a full-time job
and enjoying the abilities to buy whatever I wanted.
That I once again forgot about what had happened.
I pushed them to the farthest part on my mind.

Don’t get me wrong I told people in those years.
Though I never really sat down,
Went into details and thought about how it affected me.
Until now,
It’s strange how much control its had over my life.

Letter to my dad.

This is a rough draft of the letter I wrote my dad years ago telling him what was happening.

Click to make larger!

In circles we go.

If Abuse is a never-ending cycle, Then have I contributed to only continuing it.

My facade of happiness

I’ve been thinking about writing about this topic for a couple days.
I’m scared shitless on how much it’s physically and emotionally going to take from me.
Everyday I wish it could be all over.
That I could go back to the first time it happened.
That I could have a voice
That I would’ve said something.
Yet I didn’t
I blame myself for all of this.
I feel like it’s my fault.
Like I could have stopped it.

I didn’t have to let him do those things.
Though I laid there and let him take
My soul
My life.

I let him take everything away from me.
Now as a twenty three year old
I’m lost more than I was back then.

I wish I knew what I know now.

I remember for the longest time
I thought that this is what life was
That it happened to everyone

There was a time when I enjoyed what he was doing
Than there were times when I would say no.
Only to get punched.

One time I was laying down on Estelle street on a pull out couch trying to go to bed.
To hear him sneaking up on me.
Thinking I don’t want to go through this tonight.
Only to feel those cold lifeless hands slide across my body.
Turning me over, Pulling my pants down, and start giving me head.
Trying to act like I was asleep, Asking him “what are you doing?”
But he already knew what he wanted to do.
He did it a hundred times before.
It wasn’t about me
It never was

Then why does it feel like my fault?
Why couldn’t my dad get up and go to the bathroom
Why couldn’t he catch him doing those things to me.

Socrates

“True wisdom comes to each of us when we realize how little we understand about life, ourselves, and the world around us.”

Carousel of Life

Well I am not sure what to write today.
I spent most of my day in bed
I felt emotionally drained,
Didn’t do much.
Writing about this takes a lot out of me.
I’m hoping to find a couple of people who are willing to share their experiences as well.
So everyday I don’t have to go through this.
I know in the end this is what I need.

Today I am just going to give out a couple links to some other blogs that deal with the same things.
Hopefully you take something away from them, Like I do.

Broken, Burdened, And Blessed

Tracing the truth through the tangle of lies

I’ll be posting these also in my blogroll

So they’ll be available at anytime