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NitaAnn Sep 2014
a bad day doesn't mean i am not healing
it doesn't mean i did anything wrong

it doesn't mean everyday i am not dealing
growing to become someone strong

a bad day means something else entirely,
it means i am still here
breathing, fighting, and growing.
So lets get somethings clear

i am a ******* lion, a warrior.

and now i am free, i am important, i am love, i have a place
i am not the scars that exist nor the tears that stream down my face

daddy thought he won.
trying to beat the will out until i had no words left to say
but i fought through it all and i rose above
i grew my wings and i flew away
and i am learning the true definition of love

a bad day reminds me of just how far i've come
it is not a setback nor does it undo all the work that i have done

a bad day is just that, a bad day
so keep going girl, tomorrow will be better anyway
NitaAnn Sep 2014
Taking it off
Laying it aside
Tired of pretending

Go ahead, take a good look
This is the horror beneath
That I tried to protect you from
But you did not keep your promises

Lies, Liar
I thought I could trust
Once again, I am the one hurt
I have learned the lesson of betrayal

Now I am done
So over smiling
Acting like everything is okay

Let the world see the
Evil that is me
Let the world feel
My pent up wrath

Taking it off
Laying it aside
Tired of pretending

Sorry...not sorry!
NitaAnn Sep 2014
Crying
Hurting, alone
Looking for relief
Nobody cares
Forever Forgotten
NitaAnn Sep 2014
My pain causes my soul to crumble, my heart to break and my entire self to be crushed beyond repair. I fall to the ground and clutch the dirt between my fingers, I want to dig to find something solid to grab on to. I am toppling over from agony. The pain has swept my feet out from under me like a swift breeze, and it is beating me down with its rocks of sadness. Those rocks continue to pound my body, each hit removing a part of me. I am dissolving to mere dust. I am sinking into this earth, as these rocks called flashbacks pelt me with all of their strength. Each time I remember I sink deeper, and slip further away from happiness. That dirt is swallowing me whole and no one is there to save me or pull me out of this rubble. I shall vanish without remembrance. But I don't vanish. I exist now in the "in-between" place. Half of my body buried in this dirt, stuck in this pain and hurt. The other half wanting to live and be free and know what it feels like to be lifted off of this ground, and soar. But each time I extend my arms and reach for the sky I am knocked back down. That pain wants to drag me back under Its dark covering of dirt and conceal my face and unhinge my smile. Its trying to win the battle that is my life. Sometimes I let the pain win. Some times I have no choice. The memories creep up on me like a lion crawls upon its prey. I am the prey. Today I had to let them in. Today I had to remember that little hurt child. She was hurt in the most horrible of ways. But she was not destroyed, she did not vanish, she is still inside of me, she pumps the blood through my veins. Her strength and power force me to continue this life day after day. She was stripped of her innocence, her trust, her faith, her mind, and her spirit. Every part of her was tainted  by his lies, his words, and his body that forced its self upon her. Making her do things that aren't meant for daddy's and little girls to do."This is how daddy's show their love" he says so I lay and I allow. I allow him to disgrace my body with the same manhood I was made from. I didn't know this was wrong then because it always happened. It was just...life. Daddy came to visit and unlatched my crib bars, had his way, then he latched it back and was on his way. He stole the most from me at four, this the day he decided touching wasn't enough. The day he decided I needed to understand my role as a woman. The day he ***** me. That was the day my world caved in, The day the earth stopped spinning. The sun stopped shining. There were no stars in the night sky. There was no green grass on the hill side. Or flowers in the spring time. My world ended and twisted and turned and contorted it's self into a new kind of world. A sick world, filled with tears, hurt, and pain. Filled with lies and covering things up to disguise from people who "don't understand our love". This new more complicated world was filled with burying secrets and not getting daddy in trouble. I hated that world. But I resided in it anyways because that was the address that I had. I lived there for far to long. But I no longer do. I broke down its walls with a sledge hammer. Shattering its every part like he did to my ****** body. I now run through that hillside with its green grass and I feel the sun shining down on my face, spreading its rays far and wide and enclosing me in its warmth like my mother used to. I feel the earth spin around me again. I took my world back from him and left him to rot in his, to remember what he did, and to die alone.That's what he deserves. And I...... I deserve life, I deserve love, I deserve kindness, warmth, and goodness. I want to shower in it. NO I want to bath in it I want the love to pour its self out on me and lavish  me with its treasures. I deserve to know what that feels like, to grasp it between my fingers and hold on to that and not the dirt that wants to swallow me whole.
NitaAnn Sep 2014
I am a slow learner when it comes to the basic human emotions.  

Cause and effect I get.  

He hurt me.  I am sad.

He hit me.  I am mad.

Lots of causes. Lots of pain.

Day after day. Blow after blow I was placed squarely in his perpetual state of hate. Confusion.  Sadness. Loneliness.  I never had a chance to fully recover from the act before.  Unless I chose numbness.

These past several months I have been drowning in the darkness of physical pain.  And just when I was strong enough to come up for air; the stifling fist of anxiety pressed against my chest until it hurt.  And again I fell into the darkness.

It is an awful existence.  There have been days.  There have been nights.  An end was a welcome thought.  The ideation itself was soothing; strange as that might sound.  But that is as close as I will ever venture to the edge.  I know what happens beyond that cliff and it is not the glorified means to an end.

Enough of that though.  This is more about what I have learned.  

I do not have to stay in a state of constant pain.  As a child I did.  

As an adult I am free to move around.  I am free to chart my own emotional course.  It might be a physical movement.  From the bed to the treadmill to the shower.  Or it might be the emotional act of rearranging furniture and piles of luggage in my head.  The best part though; the world will not end.  Even if I shut the door on a room in disarray.  

There is no open door policy.  The requirement that gives no privacy for pain.  No revolving doors.  Those are the worst kind of doors with no beginning or an end.  

I will open those unfinished doors again because I want a healthy mind.  One room at a time.  Maybe two if really needed; a guest suite of sorts.

Closed doors were not allowed as a child.  I should have known that the exact opposite was true in my mental landscape. 
 Open.  Shut.  Cracked.  Locked. 
 The simple fact of choice is a powerful one.  
And a key I hope to never forget.
NitaAnn Sep 2014
Sitting on a small couch tonight, I feel as if I am sitting on the corner of some cosmic world.  Alone.  Completely alone.  And this particular world is not round; rather it it square.  Square because there is no circular justice.  Not unless you count being tortured and murdered as some sort of redemptive revenge.

And then I feel injustice pressing squarely behind my tired eyes.  What has happened is not just.  Nor is it fair because they have moved on and I am still here suffering.

Everyone is dead... that keeps ringing in my head.  I know that is not the precise case but in my own twisted world, everyone is, in fact, dead.

So now I sit week after week, even moment after moment, left to deal with their abuse, their hatred, their woundings, and their deaths.  Then there are my scars, my memories, my terrors, and all the collateral damage that comes with being a member of this family.  Theirs and Mine: two separate and fancy walk-in closets full of skeletons and ghosts tucked away in every nook and custom built drawer specifically designed for keeping the best and most wrenching secrets.  What an inheritance.

I feel that I am on the hook for the lion's share of the damage.  This hurts deeply; deeper than I ever imagined.  This surprises me.  What a dysfunctional mess...this family that is mine.

Alone. Completely Alone.
NitaAnn Sep 2014
I get lost.  In my own head.  

According to my husband, I have been alarmingly quiet lately.  I don't mean to.  Really.  It just happens.

After a screaming match culminating with said husband telling me to get the **** out of my head; I told him that I am lost in the darkness of my past.

I have wounds that never heal just right. My past sneaks up on me when I least expect it too. It is forever mocking me and making me realize that I will never escape it.

Nobody really knows me.
Nobody really understands me.

I am lost and alone.

And that makes me weird and quiet.

I have nothing audible to say.  My voice is locked inside my thoughts, my hurts, my scars.  I hurt but how does one verbalize horror?  Horror in the movies is simply expressed in screams both silent and audible, twisted faces, running, backing into a corner, all until one is consumed completely by the evil.

To say that I am scared is an insult.  I am terrified.  I am haunted.  I live in horror.  I have joked before about what kind of writer I could be and I always conclude that I would be one hell of a horror author.  I love Stephen King yet the horror of his books is sometimes pale in comparison to my past. However, when I can, I have to wonder what happened to him?  Horror does not come naturally to most human minds.

I am struggling at this moment.  My past combined with the present has sent me reeling.  It is horror in black and white.  Black and white that is vivid color in my memory because it is my life.  These silent times are when depression grows taller and wraps its dense, dark grip around my mind, my body, my eyes.  The darkness is in the corner of my eyes, just out of sight, no matter where I look.

I paint a smile on and talk to people all day long.  But in those same dark corners on my eyes I have to wonder what if they only knew.  And if they did know would they be as lost as me?

Nobody really knows me.
Nobody really understands me.

I am lost and alone.
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