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 Apr 2014 answer
NitaAnn
The TRUTH
 Apr 2014 answer
NitaAnn
The truth is that life isn’t fair– it isn’t, but “you do the best you can” – at least that’s what I’ve been told.

The truth is I don’t even know which one of ‘me’ is real and I’m scared of the many times I leave my body and can no longer communicate, it makes me feel unsafe and the truth is it happens every single night.

The truth is I’m scared all the time because at any minute I could change into someone else and bad things can happen.

The truth is every single night my body aches with sharp and persistent pain, and I cannot rest, or find comfort. And the truth is I prefer not to be present when the pain becomes unbearable.

The truth is I feel overwhelmed with the chaos inside my head and the pain in my body – and the truth is I know that no one will be there, so why would I even ‘write’ how it feels anymore?

The truth is DT has no idea what happens now because the truth I don’t think he really wants to know and he wants to believe that because I don’t ‘email’ him or leave him a ‘voicemail’ that I must be doing better. Good Job, Nita, you are doing such a great job navigating through the pain, in a much “healthier” way. But the truth is he doesn’t know anything about my “nightly navigation”.

The truth is no one wanted to know the TRUTH then, and no one wants to know it now. No one wants to see, or hear, about a man fu@#ing a kid. Because the TRUTH is that it’s disgusting and revolting, and horrifying…and the thought really turns the stomach of anyone who hears it. And the truth is, if it makes you feel that way to hear it, then imagine how disgusting it feels to be a kid who was fu@#ed.

The truth is I scared as hell that one day I will seriously hurt or **** myself. Because the truth is that we do tend to hurt and **** ourselves, and if ‘one’ of us does it – the rest of us are scared as hell that it will happen to another survivor!

The truththe truth is a journey into madness…and you can’t handle my ‘truth’. Because your truth and my truth are WAY to different…

The truth is I’m not that scarred when I’m covered up – and the truth is no one wants to see those scars because it’s uncomfortable and perhaps a reality check that the world really is fu@#ed up – and adults really do f@#k kids – and people like me really do hurt themselves and **** themselves.

The truth is everyone ignores what isn’t “spoken” and the truth is everyone is shocked as hell when the unspeakable happens.

The truth is “I” am not the one with the blinders on. And the truth is you don’t see me now because you don’t want to see me. Because you WANT to believe that I’m doing “better” as a result of your “boundaries” and “limits” (what a good doctor you are!- pure genius…she finally ‘accepts’ the limitations –and as a result huge sigh she’s doing so much better) – but the truth is you don’t know because you don’t ask, and you don’t ask because you don’t want to know- because it’s not pretty and it certainly isn’t something you see in a showroom window.

And the truth is you don’t know what my reality is because you don’t want to know, you don’t want to see. Because my reality is covered up with clothing, eyes that hide the truth, the ability to use humor to hide even the most painful feelings, and a bright smile.

And that’s okay – but really….your truth and my truth are as far apart as Earth and Venus.

Smile Pretty for the Camera, Nita ...that's "perfect."
 Apr 2014 answer
T. S. Eliot
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there’s the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey—
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter—
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that’s particular,
A name that’s peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum-
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there’s still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover—
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.
 Apr 2014 answer
T. S. Eliot
As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved
in her laughter and being part of it, until her
teeth were only accidental stars with a talent
for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps,
inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally
in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by
the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter
with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a
pink and white checked cloth over the rusty
green  iron table, saying: ‘If the lady and
gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden,
if the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea
in the garden…’ I decided that if the shaking
of her ******* could be stopped, some of the
fragments of the afternoon might be collected,
and I concentrated my attention with careful
subtlety to this end.
 Apr 2014 answer
T. S. Eliot
Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

      A penny for the Old Guy

      I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

      II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

      III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

      IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We ***** together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

      V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
 Apr 2014 answer
Ellen Stewert
They all look at me and believe I'm innocent
Yes, I don't do drugs or drink
Yes, I don't smoke cigarettes

I'm tired of feeling like a teachers pet
I'm tired of feeling like a goody too-shoos
I'm tired of feeling like a plain Jane

I'm not perfect
I'm not innocent
I'm not a ******

I crave him constantly
I want him more than anything
I crave being touched
I want to be kissed

I'm not the christian girl I used to be
I don't believe in "God"

I want to be perceived differently
I want to be seen for who I am
I want to be seen as an adult

I'm no child
I'm a women and a strong one at that
Just ranting
 Apr 2014 answer
Wednesday
I wonder if you’d want to know
I named all of my demons after you and
they haunt me in my sleep

when I was 14 I fell asleep in April and dreamed of bones and
I’m not sure I’ve really ever woken up since

when I lost 5 pounds I never saw a difference

when I lost 10 my mother said I was looking good

when I lost 20 she told me to stop and handed me food
and I became anemic

when I lost 25 I stopped drinking anything because
I felt water had calories

when I lost 30 my mother held me on her lap
and held my bones together for me

when I lost 35 I started fainting every morning and
the doctors could no longer easily find my blood pressure

when I lost 40 people started to stare and food made me cry

when I lost 45 it hurt to walk and to lay down
it hurt to eat
it hurt to breathe and
I started throwing up my empty stomach

the mind plays tricks on those that decide
nourishment is not needed

Eat.
 Apr 2014 answer
Ito
All the world's a stage
as I age without a wage,
In all my rage
I realize I'm in a cage,
I fail to turn the page.

Another day lost in this reality
arrested only by morality,
have I gone too far?
Time makes another scar,
deep and infected.

My vitality is only clouded by you,
driving again with no destination again...
Wanting to be part of something new.
I'm given another cue,
flawless and without hesitation I continue,
on this strange play called LIFE.
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