I turned you into poetry.
my 3am thoughts.
you became my nightmare
and my everlasting joy.
I can never remove you from my mind
unless I remove you from my heart.

"It wasn't your fault”* The words follow me wherever I go; inked into the many pages of a torn journal, etched bloodily into the flesh of my arms.  Haunting me endlessly and echoing inside my mind in bursts of staining black.

"Why do you hurt yourself?"  I want to scream an answer to this question, yet I never do, I never will. I don't have the answer they want.  Yet my mouth wants to spit the venomous words out at them.  My tongue, however, is empty of the truth.  I smile condescendingly at their horrified faces, doing whatever I can to escape.

"Just be a good girl and everything will be fine” Can you not understand?  I'm not good. I'm bad, tainted, my very essence poisoned and corrupted.   Don't touch me. I'll contaminate you.  Just stay away, keep an image in your head of me, smiling, happy, innocent.  Never come close enough to look past my mask, and then everything will be okay.  I don't want anyone to put me back together again, I deserve to be shattered.

"You don't understand!"  How many times have I heard that?  Too many to count. Being misunderstood is part of me, when people finally understand, their empathy will eventually turn to pity. I can't stand it, hate would be easier to tolerate than sadness.  Don't be sad for me, be sad for yourself, you're much more important than I'll ever be.  Just leave me alone, if you get to close to me I'll hurt you.  Somehow, I will. I will kick my way around you, until you have no other option but to loathe me. But I deserve it.  I always break everything, it's now my turn to be broken.

"It's not your fault."  Sure, keep saying that while you're 'holding' me. I know you don't mean it.  But I'll nod my head like the doll I should be, as if I believed you.  I'll just go along with it.  The need to make me feel pure, good… shut out all the other signs.  My hands can't stop shaking, the cuts I inflict upon myself are pale white yet swollen.  The scars are reminders of how I deserve pain, and the hideous ecstasy that comes along with it.  But just ignore them, I don't want you to know anyway.  Keep repeating those words to yourself, over and over again, trying to reassure me  I'll just sit there and nod soundlessly.  Watch me smile the way you want me to as I repeat it back to you.  I'm blameless. It’s not my fault.

You won't even notice the lie behind the words………
Blameless…shameless…faultless….guiltless…

This is just a terrible time and we just have to get through it. But how?

My life here is not a secret. The NitaAnn expressed here is a lot more of me than I would ever reveal in my real life. Writing what I write here, expressing what and how I feel, is far beyond what I would ever reveal in real life ~ even to my close friends. I cannot remember the last time I let anyone see me cry or let them see the pain I go through (exception being the therapist). But here I am, typing away, open and raw. The painful truth that is me...and that truth is that I am in pain. I pray to just sleep now so I can get relief from the pain. I pray for answers and solutions because I know that long-term sleeping isn’t the answer and I really want to feel better but in my present moment I am settling for any relief I can find. I’m grateful to have this outlet, a way to express what I cannot say aloud, or show to anyone in my real life. It is difficult for me to allow people to see this side of me, to be vulnerable, even on-line. It is certainly not something I can do in real life.

Right now I feel like I am standing above a tornado, watching it wreck mayhem on the girl who was me. But I am beyond expecting anything right now. With every step there is a twist, every fork in the road feels like a dead end. I am ready to fight. I am ready to get past this. It all still mystifies me; how this happens. Just I begin to feel better, things are going well, I can control my thoughts and maintain control over the crazies who dwell within ~ then suddenly it’s like a hammer crashes into my head and a g-force of reality rains down. I had myself convinced that I was better. The hardest part was finally over and the next part will be a breeze! Then it all catches up with me again...I cannot outrun it.

I thought that maybe taking time off from school/work would be a good idea. But I’m quickly coming to the conclusion that it might do more harm than good. Each night I just feel empty and drawn...haven’t I felt enough already? Is there anything left to feel? I feel desperate for relief. It is so hard to find hope and promise when you can’t seem to see past the thick fog of the pain.  And it still amazes me how crazyhead can manifest itself inside me causing not just mental anguish but also physical torment. And the queasiness and headache will not go away.  The blood pressure remains in the danger zone even with all the meds.

And it's overwhelming, you know? It's just too much.  All of it running through my head ~ horrible things that I cannot even write here.  And I want to talk to the therapist about it - I do - because I know I need his help.  But when I picture myself sitting there, on his couch, actually speaking aloud the horrible disgusting things from my past and my present - I imagine him sitting there, disgusted with me...he wouldn't be able to handle it.  He wouldn't.  And I cannot fathom how I would feel to see a look of disgust on his face.  To have him see me, NitaAnn, as I truly am...so I am stuck in this terrible paradox ~ needing his help but not being able to express to him what I need help with.  

I am trying to see past this time of pain and once again find hope, find joy in life and let other people in the real world help me when I am lost. There must be a solution...so what is it? Maybe I’ll go lie down and explore answers to that question. I had better find something quick ~ because I don’t know how much more of this crap I can handle physically or mentally.

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 truth – the 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."

How do you tell your heart to beat again, when it’s been numb and broken for so long? How do you start living life when all you have done for so many years is go through the motions and try to survive? How do you tell people around you that think you’re doing wonderful, that inside your hurting and not sure how to find God in the midst of the pain?

I have been sort of numb to life the last few months...because the emotions became too much to bear it was easier to pretend and try to forget if only for a few moments....

But deep down inside, I really want to live this abundant life that Jesus bought for me, when He paid the price on the Cross. I really want to walk with my God through the journey of healing, so that I can become the person, He has seen me as, since before I was born. I want to believe I am worthy of love, and that I am beautiful and breathe taking to my Creator.

I know one day I will get to that place and when I do it will be so amazing and this journey I am on will have been well worth it.....

Although right now there are a lot of questions, and a lot of doubts, and many sleepless nights, and tears cried.

For right now I remember the story in Matthew, where it talks about a man who asked Jesus to heal his son, And he told Jesus, “Lord, I believe, help me in my unbelief"...

So today I am choosing to say "Lord, I believe in You and I trust that you are holding me in this and that You will continue to walk with me through all of this, but I ask that you help me in my areas of unbelief and doubts...in Jesus Name...Amen"

A smile has a powerful message. It relays happiness, contentment, joy and love. It is a natural reaction as a result of one (or more) of these emotions. But sometimes we use our smiles incorrectly. Smiles should not hide sadness, pain, grief or loneliness.

Not only do we use our smiles to hide our feelings, but others do the same. How do we know when someone is truly happy or is using their smile to hide their real feelings? For most of us, we don't. Obviously the closer the relationship, the more you are going to recognize the attempt to cover up, but most of our daily interactions do not involve processing the true feelings of others. So is it surprising that we take the lead from others and plaster a permanent smile on our faces, too?

Today I have realized just how much that affects how I perceive other people. Tonight I decided it was time to get back on the wagon for real therefore prompting me to attend a meeting.  As I listened to the testimony of one of the leaders of the group, and his rocky road with abuse, ****** addiction, drug and alcohol use and ******* addiction, his breakdowns of multiple marriages, abandonment of his kids and the eventual path that lead him to God and to getting his life back in order. Listening to him go through his story, break down when he talked about how abandoned he felt as a young child, how empty he felt when he tried to use *** as a means to fill the hole in his heart, hit me hard. Not 30 minutes before, he was across the room, talking, eating, SMILING like nothing was wrong. And here he was before me, a flawed, hurt and broken person; just as every single one of us in that room is.

Why do we spend so much time hiding who we truly are? Why do we feel obligated to do this? Who are we protecting from our real feelings? There is no pretending that everything is happy behind our smiles. We all know otherwise. And for the first time I realized that I can be real. I don't have to always have a smile on my face, or reply "good or fine" when someone asks me how I am. I can take off my smile for a couple of hours a week and feel safe that no matter how I feel, I will be supported and loved.

Not everyone is given the amazing gift that I am just now realizing I have received. So the next time you put a smile on your face, I hope it is because you are truly happy, not masking your pain.