I’m sitting here and the last thing I want to do is write. Oh, that’s not entirely true. I have wanted to write…but I haven’t been able to do it. I have been aching to talk but unable to find the words. I have been silent. I know that. It was on purpose. My mind has been unable to take the myriad of fragmented thoughts and memories and put them down on paper in a way they will be able to be read and understood. My thoughts don’t form fluid complete sentences right now. They have no eloquence or beauty…perhaps they also lack the passion that was once at my fingertips – words begging to be written, screaming to be spoken out loud, even if only a whisper.

I am sitting here with my heart in my throat and I need to be here. I want to be here. I crave being a part of this community but at the same time I fear the judgment. I have felt so deeply absorbed in my own pain and yet wanting so desperately to express my thoughts and feelings here. Voices inside of me begging to be heard, to connect with someone who might possibly understand how it is I feel. I have poured my energy and channeled my anger into writing. The hurt, the sadness, the rage, the hurt, the shame, and my Lord, the unbearable pain…all made me write…and write…and write. I pour my heart, my soul, my very self out here and the sense of belonging and community here make me better. Even if only for a minute…

Sometimes it is just too heavy and I am having a hard time coping. With the crazyiness…with life. I move from wanting to change to giving up on myself constantly. I am not yet ready to explain what giving up feels like, but I give up. And I want you to give up on me too. I want you to be angry at me for giving up.

And yet I want you to care and I want your help. There is so very much to fix inside of my crazy-brain.

It’s nearly midnight…another night of pain. Another night of being overwhelmed by the voices inside my head….they are loud and I cannot tune them out. I have tried walking, reading, listening to music, exercising, relaxation, watching Netflix…but nothing is working tonight… It’s at night when it's his voice I hear. I struggle enough with being stupid, worthless, *****, disgusting – I hate his voice – but was he right? Is that why his voice keeps coming back into my mind over and over again? Was he right? Did he know that I am really worthless on the inside, and I am only pretending to be good on the outside? Did he know the real me?

I don't know how to explain the dark pain and ache I feel inside. I'm unable to describe the utter blackness I see when I close my eyes and try to remember a good time in my childhood. I can't explain the thoughts that are constantly running through my mind making me scared of even myself. I cannot begin to tell you of the emptiness inside of me every single day – when I have to pretend to be someone I am not. I don't know how to explain any of this.

Little Nita is so small and scared. She has been hurt so many times…and this is just too much for her. I have tried to console her, to talk to her, to pacify her – but I am at the point where I am losing what little patience I had and I'm getting angry at her. I can no longer be gentle.

I tell her over and over: *Nita, I know this is hard – and I know it hurts – but I don’t have time to ‘pacify’ and ‘soothe’ you at night when you are afraid. I know you can feel him, and taste him…smell him. I know you feel sick and I know you want to *****. Nita, I know you want her to be here for you, I know you need her to be here…but Nita, she’s gone. She has someone else now and he needs her so she no longer has time for you. I’m sorry, and I know that’s hard to face, but you’ll get through it. You have been through worse. I know you’re afraid. Hell – we’re all afraid. I want to scream out, “I AM AFRAID! PLEASE HELP ME…I am so afraid of who I am…I am so afraid.” So, it’s time now, little Nita…curl up in your blanket and close your eyes. Listen to the sound of your heart beating…

It occurred to me today that it take a lot of courage to be hopeful. One has to walk into hope with the knowledge that hope is just a dream, yet, with hope that dreams can come true. What a dichotomy!
Often we have no hope at all that a certain desire may be fulfilled. So much so that we discard the desire as a dream that is dead and buried, and turn to a journey where we actively work for someone else’s desires to be fulfilled. As we travel the road of fulfilling the hopes of another, our own hope peeks out from around the corner then darts back out of sight as soon as we turn to look at it…taking its essence with it. (Wait a second! I saw that hope die and I buried it a long time ago.) Then, it begins to get bolder, and stays just long enough for us to begin to recognize its face. Its essence invades you, almost against your own will, to make a real change in your life.

You begin to question…Do I dare to hope? Do I dare to take the chance? Do I have “reasonable confidence” that this can morph from being dead and in hell into livable reality? I cannot go through much more pain, unless the pain actually produces some positive results. Is this a real hope, or only real because I secretly long for it to be so?

Hope is just a…thing. But what courage it takes to dare to accept it.

I guess I have begun a new journey. A journey of hope…this time for myself and not for another. So for today, I choose to be brave. For today, I choose to hope. Today, I choose to rescue hope from the hell to which I personally banished it…come what may.

Imagine you are a child, alone in the darkness, trying to scurry away from the monsters for if they saw you, they would hurt you. You stayed shut up inside yourself, ensuring you did not move, did not look them in the eyes. You pretended it was not painful by going someplace else. Pretenses and secrets were how you hid in the darkness, how you survived. When you were unable to hide, you would smile at others, be thankful and polite…but when others would leave your mind returned to the darkness, the only solitude you had.

Imagine you were invisible and silent, your mouth forced close by others. They did not want to hear you, they could not hear you, they would not allow themselves to see you. If they were to hear you, they would hear themselves stumbling along in the darkness. They would see themselves grasping at the walls to steady their pace. They could not see you, for if they saw you, they would see a reflection of themselves in you, so instead, they threw you into the darkness and they force you to remain there.

**Silent

Invisble

Unseen

Unheard