She tries hard to hide her feelings ~ and not wear them on her face
But look closely and you can see them ~ things that time cannot erase

The secrets that she carries ~She is not allowed to share
Although she wants to tell you ~Fearing judgment she won’t dare

She struggles just to stay alive~ Trying her best but you can’t see
Others tell her to lay down her burdens ~So then she can be free

Her vulnerabilty invisible to others ~ Tears shed only when alone
On the outside she is perfect~On the inside broken and alone

She hesitates to continue on ~balancing high up on the ledge
She wonders what would happen~If she were to leap off of the edge

Fearful of the future~Unable to work through the past
Strength and courage once her armor~Are now things of the past

Her trust and faith once again shattered~Why take another chance
She wonders if it is better to walk away without a second glance

So, here it goes…

Had a follow-up appt today with Dr to go over some tests I had done last week, we are now 30 days post-heart attack. I go in all cheerful expecting to hear good news and yeah lets start the exercise and getting healthy!

Nope…No…NO…NO…NADA….NO….NO!!

The doctor was all, “Um, yeah, we got your test results back, and there is cause for concern.”

Wait, what??

And then I was not even expecting the next words out of his mouth…

we found several masses on the MRI.
                           3 in left lung,
                           1 in right breast,
                           and 1 on thyroid.

He was just so matter of fact, he was just “delivering the news.” And then he rattles off the appts I need to go get done as soon as I can and then bye, we will see you later…have a nice day. ***!
Somehow I managed to drive myself back to my house.

Crying the entire way.

My ears are ringing and I think I may ***** but I don’t. I sit down and put my head down because nothing feels real and my first thought was: I need my grandma. But my grandmother is dead so I can’t call her. I started to call a friend of mine but suddenly everything felt so loud and overwhelming I hung up before she answered. What was I going to say to her anyway – I didn’t want to sound needy and pathetic. Or afraid.

So I called DT. He knew I had been having health problems, he knew I had been having tests done, he wouldn’t be surprised to hear fear in my voice, and I didn’t know who else to call. It was the middle of the afternoon and I didn’t expect him to answer the phone anyway. I could leave him a voicemail and try to compose myself to speak coherently by the time he called me back. He answered. I tried to squeak out the words, but all I could do was cry.  I don’t know how successful I was since he kept asking me to speak louder…slower. Finally I told him that I would email him and we hung up.

It’s funny, as I write this now, tears welling in my eyes, it feels as though I am reliving it again. You never know the day your world will change forever, it’s a day that starts out as any other day; you get up, tired from not getting enough sleep, shower quickly, get dress, head off to school. You hang with friends…I mean it’s a beautiful spring day. You make plans for the summer.  And then in the middle of the day, with a few words being said and your life takes a dramatic change.

I don’t know how this is all going to play out…

Hoping this is not really the end of my world as I know it.

Can I survive one more hurdle???

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."

I know you are in pain. I can see it in your eyes, in your body. What can I do do comfort you? Come sit next to me, you can lay your head on my lap if you wish, and tell me what you need? You are safe here, I will not hurt you.

Cry if you need to~I won't ask you to stop. Sometimes crying helps get out the bad and makes room for the good. If you want to hold my hand, I will leave it out and open and ready for your grasp. If you don't want to hold my hand, that's okay, too, but I will leave it out just in case you decide you do want too.

Breathe, let it all out. Take long, deep breaths... you are safe here, no one will hurt you. You will be okay. You have so much strength and power to heal, it is within you, and I will help you find it.

If you want to be silent, I will wait with you and the beating of our hearts can be the only sound in the stillness. It is okay if you don't want to talk now. But if you do want to talk, I am right here, and I will listen to whatever you have to say. I accept you for who you are~you are safe with me.

You can relax and lean into me if you want too. I know you're tired, I know you are struggling~ I am here and you do not have to hold yourself up right now. You can rest and lean against me if you want too.

Get warm, feel cared for and loved. Do not be afraid~ You are safe here.
I am right here, and I am not leaving you. I will not leave you alone in the darkness. You have a long journey ahead of you, but I will be with you, help guide you, each step along the way.

Rest, now, little one.
You are safe now.

It is mine and mine alone...to fight…talk…cry…scream…hate…hold...and hopefully someday face and accept. How could I have possibly believed that someone else could understand...

I feel like I am so many different people disconnected from each other wrapped tightly inside this lost little body with no escape.

                                              I am a mother
                                              I am a wife
                                              I am a friend
                                              I am a professional
                                              I am so much more…
I am an ****** survivor…she is the part that is wholly separate from the rest of ‘Nita’.

I have never faced her, accepted her or anything that happened to her, she was not me…now she has grown into this big all-consuming monster growing inside of me. And the bigger she gets, the louder she is, the faster I have tried to bury her and push her away. But she is now way too big and I am way too old to bury her anymore. And I have to figure out a way to be okay with her being a part of me.

Why do I continue to run and fight who I used to be and who I am? Why am I so scared and so ashamed? Why do I continue to live in doubt and hopelessness? Why can’t I trust anyone? Why can I not understand and accept her? If this is what I so desperately wish for, what I have worked so hard for the past 5 years, why can I not just DO it? Why? Why can’t I be okay with ALL of me?

I am rambling tonight because I do not feel well and I am afraid to keep all of this inside of my head for fear that tonight could end with the unaccepted being punished. And there is no ‘support system’ in place right now to help me with that. There is just ‘me’, logical adult Nita, trying desperately to remain in charge. I catch myself not breathing, and it feels like I have to talk myself through a few breaths before it becomes subconscious again. And yet even when I concentrate on my breathing, I cannot breathe deeply, I cannot let all the air out of my lungs. Why? Is that because I am afraid and untrusting that air will fill my lungs in the next breath? Not only can I not trust another human being, I cannot trust my own body to breathe?  

I am not crazy. I am not weak. I am alive and I am lucky. I am alive…so now what? Is this where I say, “Yes, I am an ****** survivor~ time to move on.” And then I walk away? I keep trying that. I am an ****** survivor. I am an ****** survivor. (I suppose that is a step forward, I still can’t say the words out loud, but I can write them now.)


               I SURVIVED THE ABUSE ~ IT IS TIME TO MOVE ON…

But I need help with the second part. I mean, I have moved on, I am an adult, I am not helpless. I can function in society, and the majority of the people in my life probably think I am a product of a normal childhood. But it has affected so many parts of me, parts of me I am possibly not even aware of yet. That is the only way to explain the nightmares and the triggers and the strange reactions to what most people consider normal situations. I try to keep track of these moments, events, feelings, and I think I am doing better, right now…and yet I also feel like I am waiting for fate to stomp on me and squash me like an ant.  

I wish I could talk to people in my real life and trust that they won’t look at me in shame, embarrassment, or worse, pity…but I cannot. Nope – my past is mine…and I am left here alone now – to fight with it, talk to it, hate it, deal with it, cry with it – and maybe someday accept it.

And I will do it alone because it is my past…no one else’s.
How I could I have possibly thought that someone else could understand.

Hi, I'm NitaAnn…
I know we have met....however, I can't really talk to you but I need to know if you can help me.

I am married with 2 children, both girls.  I'm a dog person.  My favorite color is green and I am a Leo (which should alert you to my tendency toward stubbornness).  I prefer down pillows and lots of 'em!  I am intelligent and creative...and very independent.  I tend to be overprotective of my children - my girls call it my 'worry meter', but they mean everything to me and I want to protect them.  I love to read.  I love to travel and enjoy new adventures on the road.  I love camping and being outdoors. I love the musical Phantom of the Opera and have seen it live... I hate onions and liver and right now my favorite food is anything Mexican.  I have a past, everyone does, right?  But I don't talk about anything that happened before age 10...and not really anything til after 22.

I've been in therapy before - many times before.  But I have this incredibly hard exterior that has never been penetrated by a 'professional'.  Not one.  Some therapists have told me I have a lot of anger...depression. One therapist told me after 3 sessions that I was fine and she didn't even know why I was there and that was after I told her I had seriously considered killing myself in the shower with a razor...I was 13.

I don't know why I'm here today.  Well, I do, but I can't talk about it.

I have major trust issues.  I'm hypervigilent and always on guard and I will search for reasons not to trust you.  If you hurt me I will pull away from you and I won't let you back in.  I would like to ask you if you can help me, but because I cannot trust you I can't really tell you anything right now...but I really need to know if you can help me...because if I can't find someone to help me I don't know what will happen to me but I do know that I can't do this alone anymore.  

But I can't tell you that.  Because I don't know you....I don't trust you...I will not let you see the weak and frightened Nita.  I cannot take the lid off of the box that contains the first 10 years of my life because it will all spill out and I am afraid I won't be able to put it back in...and it is scary, and ugly, and shameful, and bad.  It's very bad.  And I can't talk about it.  

But I really need to know if you can help me...

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.

I do not feel well. I called off of work today due to exhaustion. I have tried to relax today to attempt to reduce the blood pressure but I don’t feel well still. I recognize that it is mostly my fault. I haven’t taken care of myself this week – well let’s be honest…I never really take care of myself – even a heart attack at 40 is not enough of a wake-up call to change my behaviors.  I feel sort of shaky and weak and I really want  someone, anyone to tell me what to do…but there’s no one  anymore and so I will stay here within myself praying for something (?) sleep?  Dissociation to take me away so I can escape all of it for awhile.

I just cannot turn around and ask for help. I wouldn’t even know who to ask. Why? I don’t know exactly. Fear… Maybe… Stubbornness…Perhaps. I don’t know why. When you get hurt it’s difficult to put yourself out there again – for fear of being hurt again. And right now it’s just easier to pretend to the outside world that all is well and I am a-ok – even though that isn’t true. But honestly, I don’t think it matters...anyway…the “truth”.

Aren’t I being a good little NitaAnn by not facing any of it? I mean, I did take all my meds today, and I slept til noon, up for a bit then a nap now thinking it’s time for bed again. Being physically ill along with my other mental hang-ups is not a good combination. The unrelenting darkness…it’s still here – it’s just as strong as it was before, but I will do what others expect of me…throwing it all into a leaky bucket so it does not bother anyone else.

I have nowhere to go for help, really. I am no longer burdening DT with any of this…it’s not fair – it’s just too much for him to deal with. Anyone really. Too many things, too much trauma from childhood, from the teens…and any work done this far has felt like someone putting a band-aid on a gaping stab wound. And  I have perfected the art of pushing away from me anybody else who may want to care about me. I am so difficult to love. Ask my parents.

I don’t feel well now. And yet here they are – the overwhelming ‘feelings’…relentlessly returning to my front door, insisting they have their say and I remain their captive audience.

This won’t end well. There is no hope. There is only this. There is no hope. I want to wrap up in my blanket…into a quiet dark corner and cry and pray for something to make it all end. I need it to stop. It has to stop. Please, just stop.

I’m scared. 5 year old cries for DT, for his comfort, for the look of safety in his eyes. I want DT to help me but he isn’t here anymore…it was too much for him too. But I’m scared. Scared…miserable….frightened. No one to help. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t feel well. No help – but I don’t deserve help anyway. I deserve nothing. So I ask for nothing. I will never ask again. Never.

Stay away from me, everyone. I am no good. Not even my own mother would stand by me because she knew…she knew! DT knew! He knew too! I showed him all of me and he knew that I was bad. There’s no hope. There is nothing. I feel nothing. I will never feel. Nothing. I am nothing. Nothing.

I cried all the way home tonight. I kept repeating to myself, “It’s going to be okay…it’s going to be okay…you’re going to be okay…” But is it? Is everything going to be “okay”? I no longer hear that voice inside of me telling me I can do this~ that I have to keep fighting because I am worth it. I don’t know where she went but I have not been able to find her.

I am so tired of feeling this disconnected from, well, everything. Everything…it’s lonely…it’s scary how alone one can feel in a room full of people. It’s chilling how I can watch myself from outside my body as someone else ‘lives’ inside of it. Someone I am not connected too, someone I don’t know.

Tonight, as I was brushing my teeth, I looked at my face in the mirror. I leaned forward, as if to touch the reflection there ~ and I looked deeply into her eyes and I felt nothing. I was not connected to those eyes, or to that face…those eyes were empty and hollow. I did not feel empathy or compassion for her, that face, those eyes in the mirror…I felt anger and hate for her failure to feel alive, for her incapability to feel any kind of connection to anyone or anything.

I spit toothpaste right in her face! That daft woman in the mirror! I hate her right now! For everything she has been through, for all the pain she has made me feel. I am not her! Not right now.

I rarely inhibit her body now. I can’t. I am doing the best I can… I am doing the best I can right now. I do not have to be here right now. I can’t. Not now…not right now.  

I don't remember the last time I have felt this disconnected from everything.  
I am struggling.  I am afraid. I am lost.

I desperately need help right now but I am afraid to ask for help, or even accept help if it is offered...I don't know how.  I can't reach out because...yeah, all I hear: in those moments of tempting the face of expected rejection/abandonment...make a different choice.....I can't face anymore rejection or abandonment ~ not right now.  

I want to crawl inside of myself and just feel nothing.  
And I am sorry ~ I am so sorry.....

You know what ***** about distraction? When you stop distracting yourself all the crap you were distracting yourself from barges back in, uninvited, slamming the door behind it. It doesn’t really care that I didn’t extend an invitation, and now, once again, I have an unwanted houseguest. And of course it expects to be ‘entertained’, it can’t just sit quietly in a corner, in the farthest room of the house and read a book or something. No way! It’s always right in my face, under my feet, vying for my attention. It’s vile and ugly…I don’t want it here! I can’t stand to look at it, and when it forces me to stare into its craggy, decaying face, cracked and scarred skin.

It displays my past with sober horror as if it’s a cabaret, and I am the audience. I can feel the bile rising in my throat; there is ***** in the back of my mouth, threatening to come forward with powerful force.

It croaks and taunts me, “Come on Nita, let’s have another look at today’s lunch.”

I’m sick to my stomach just being in the same room with it and I know it is only a matter of time before I will be sick. It sits down next to me, I feel my breath quicken in apprehension of what is to come. It smells of liquor and stale cigarette smoke and I gag as I try to slow my breathing down, try to calm myself.

It inches closer to me, touches my thigh, whispers into my ear, “Mind if I sit down, have a glass of wine? I prefer red, but if you don’t have an open bottle, white’s fine. I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

Yeah right! My leg feels like ice now, my skin crawling from his touch. I begin to shake as I try to move away from it, remove his hand from my upper leg. It won’t let me escape; it knows there is no way to break free. It knows once the film starts I will be unable to look away from the turmoil that is happening in front of me. And not only is the movie in 3-D, I can actually suffer with the star of the show, I feel what she feels, I see what she sees. When she bleeds, I bleed. When she cries, I wipe her tears from my face. I feel her fear and her angst.

As the film starts, it knows I’m unable to shelter myself from the motion picture and it flaunts it in front of me as though it is a screening fit for the Cannes movie festival. Incapable of looking away I see my own eyes looking back at me. I become her, the ******* the screen, I feel his hands on my body and I feel his breath on my skin.

I can feel the filth on my soul like it’s my own skin. I know my worth. I burned it into my existence. I am branded. I am unclean. I can’t wash him off of me. I have dry heaves now, there’s no more vomiting, there’s nothing left inside of me, except filth and shame. I can feel my heart beating in every single inch of my body. My face is hot and my cheeks feel bruised.

I scrub my skin until it’s read and raw but the filth cannot be removed. I ***** until my stomach convulses and there is nothing left but he is still inside of me. I cut my flesh in an effort to bleed him out of me. I watch the blood run down my pale skin and pool onto the floor but I still feel him, he’s still here.

I am nothing. He made me nothing. I am pathetic for struggling with this still, years later. Nita, get over it! Move on!

I'm giving up.

I hate the constant body aches! The headache in my left temple radiates down the back of my neck. It never goes away, not even with medication. It's this dull ache that is irritating and nauseating. My hip joint make it difficult to walk or sit with the burning pain. I feel like my entire pelvis is is bruised and aching.

I feel overwhelmed tonight. I can't leave my house because of the constant aches and nausea. The voice beckons me to grab my razor blade and make it stop. That voice will not stop until he gets his way.

It's too much now. All of it. The voices, the pain, the memories, the flashbacks. I have never said this out loud before, but it's almost enough for me to check myself into the hospital. And if it weren't for my own fears of lack of control and inability to trust, I may be there right now.

I feel hopeless and unheard now. I tried so hard to communicate this weekend. I can't make it stop, but no one hears me. So, instead, I write into cyberspace, hoping someone will hear me and tell me they've been here before, over and over again, and it get's better. God! I don't know what I need, or even what to ask.

I'm not even sure it matters anyway...not anymore.

I feel the smallest of small right now. I don't know how I even got to be an adult.

I am totally going mad- crazy – insane… Not that you wake up one morning and you’ve tumbled into the wonderland of insanity…no! Sadly, it is a slow and painful process. Fortunately no one is around at night to watch the horror show of Nita as it plays out. Since contact with and assistance from a Demonologist seems unlikely, perhaps a stake through the heart would work.

I’m terrible at a lot of things right now. I can’t seem to shake this horrible darkness. I can’t. It has applied for permanent residence and I’ve no idea how to evict it. And ******* if you say “medication” or “mindfullness” is the answer. And the ******* suicidal thoughts and general feelings of doom are compounded by the fact that I can never do anything right anymore. I seem to fail everybody that I care about.

And I can “plan” my life down to the minute… but the fact is that even when I make plans I cannot follow through with them because….listen carefully, I am too ******* mess up to do anything right. I just don’t care about anything anymore. I see my future stretched out before me and it’s the same pattern as the past…long depressing periods of self-hate and destruction followed by 10 minute of happiness and sense of accomplishing something. Really, there’s so little to look forward to- except more of the same. Endless years spent in isolation…cheery, eh?

What it all comes down too, really, is the overwhelming feelings of worthlessness. I wasn’t worth anything to anyone or someone would have noticed, someone would have cared, helped me, seen me. But I just didn’t matter. Everything else and everyone else mattered and I didn’t matter. I still feel that way. Hence the overwhelming thoughts of just ending it. It’s hard to want to live when all you can see are the ways you don’t matter. And yes, I get that there are a few people who care about me. And I am truly sorry to yet again disappoint.

I don’t matter. Rationally I know that I do matter a little to a couple of people. And they want me around. But that doesn’t change the fact that deep inside of me, I don’t believe it. I know they would be better off without my depressed self in their lives. I’m too tired. It’s too overwhelming to know that I’ll just keep fighting the same ******* battle of trying to unsuccessfully convince myself that I’m worth anything at all for the rest of my pointless ******* life. No thanks….

Besides, I’m tired. I feel old. Mostly, I’m just waiting around to die, anyway. It’s unbearably sad. I see myself from the outside and I think – what a waste. What a beautiful girl. What an empty life she leads. Poor lonely thing, she’ll never know that thrill of living, of actually feeling alive. If only she could have mattered maybe it could have been different. But she didn’t…

"You don't have to be okay, or perfect, you just have to get through the minute, hour, night..."* That's what DT said to me earlier when I called him. "Nita, you don't have to feel 'ok' you just have to get through the night."

But...DT, what about tomorrow? And the next night...and the night after that. I'm so tired of watching the clock and just "getting through the next minute".

"Nita, you know it comes in 'waves'...how you're feeling now. There are times when you will be better, and times when you are worse. You know that."

Yes, but what happens when I drown in the next wave, or the wave after that one?
DT was able to calm me down. I was full of fear, fear of the time each night when "logical" Nita disappears and the irrational angry and sad ones take control, put on the red boots and walk all over DT and me! And Nita had one boot on already earlier when she called DT.

"I don't want to die, DT, I don't want to die..." That's what I kept saying to him, on the phone... and I don't, I don't want to die...but I'm so scared that I'm going to die because the pain becomes so overwhelming that I will do anything to make it end. DT told me what to do, step by step, he told me: ”Nita, I want you to go and brush your teeth, take your medication and tuck yourself into bed. Then tomorrow morning, you will get up, shower, get dressed...and get to school. And then you will call my office at 3:30 and we will continue to talk."

But now, the headache that I have been battling all week has now pulled out the new arsenal which is immune to all medication. The lack of sleep has made my eyelids as heavy as bricks, my mind cloudy and my body weary. I am unable to focus. The nausea which subsided for a day is now back with a vengeance. I have thrown up multiple times tonight – and I although I continue to brush my teeth, I would pay the asking ransom for some stronger mouthwash and perhaps some diet sprite.

Although the nightmares abated for a few days, they have returned from the game of hide and seek – l am now hiding and they are now seeking. The ever present feelings of discontent will no longer allow me a moment of peace. This journey to “inner peace” seems to be an impossibility right now.

There is no party at the end of the rainbow – where my heart will sing and my soul will dance with joy. Instead, all I find is the hurt – and sometimes it is so painful, I want to cut out my own heart to keep from feeling it. I am an emotional baby in an adult body and I don’t know how to grow up. I am overwhelmed; there are not enough words in the dictionary to express how it is that I truly feel. Yes, there are times when I want to end it all, but really, I don’t want to die, I want to live, but I want to "live" and not just "survive" the day.

"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…

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

I often wonder if anxiety manifests in your body in a physical sense. I feel despondent today…I’ve been nauseous all day. I lack the enthusiasm and energy to do anything. I am fearful every evening of what will come in the night. I know I should just grit my teeth and push through this phase. ..but l currently lack the fervor and oomph.

Darkness has closed in. My body feels like it’s filled with lead. I am exhausted physically and mentally. I’m walking in the rain and the wind caught under my umbrella and pummeled me into a brick wall. I am constantly fighting against the winds. The winds of my fear, my anxiety, my hopelessness and shame…and the anger, holy smokes! The horrible anger that overwhelms me.

I don’t sleep, the darkness invades my dreams. When I do finally fall asleep, it’s only a half sleep. I toss and turn and wake up multiple times during the night.

So much of what I feel is irrational and the logical part of my brain tells me that – but Ms. Logic can’t win against Ms. Scared –Angry (she has a hyphenated last name). I need help – I know that. I know that I am not “me” and I am not in control of us, not anymore. I know that the strength and spirit and determination I had has been drained from me.

I have been thinking terrible thoughts at night. Thoughts like: what if I just take the entire bottle of ativan and chase it down with a chug of *****. It isn’t about suicide – I assure you, it’s about making it stop! It’s about stopping the crazy voices inside my head; it’s about killing the physical and mental pain in my body. I realize how twisted that sounds…like the mentality of an ‘addict’. Something I never want to be.

I never wanted to be ‘this’ woman. I used to be strong – a fighter! And I have been through worse! But I feel like a runner who hit the wall. I just don’t feel like I can push forward anymore, not now. Thinking about the darkness that overwhelms me at night is like looking down the barrel of a shot-gun. I just wait for the bullet to come…wait for the past to start ravaging my body and my mind once again. And I hate it! I hate it! I hate the voices, I hate the feeling that he’s here with me. I hate the way my body aches, the way my hips hurt and my chest feels tight. I hate the way my breathing gets shallow and I hate that I can’t seem to stop it. DT said I should be able to stop it. I don’t understand why I can’t do that. Why can’t I do it?

I feel so anxious so sad and scared. I am such a disappointment. I’m so ashamed of myself. People tell me how inspired they are by my courage and perseverance, and here I am…thinking of overdosing on anti-anxiety and sleeping meds. I need help. I’m so ashamed. This isn’t me – I don’t even know who this is. What do I need to do? I don’t know what the answer is. All I know is that I need something – something to hold on to. I’m overwhelmed by fear and darkness. Thunder and lightning are raging in my head ALL OF THE TIME! And I’m scared.

The SI is back, and I’m so utterly disgusted with myself for falling back into that! But like an alcoholic, I cannot stop after I make that first cut. The endless crying is back – it’s all back with a vengeance! The deep hole inside of me is growing like a cancerous tumor. It’s so hard to even stay alive and no one gets it. Each day is more and more difficult to get out of bed, there isn’t a better day now – and there isn’t another escape that I can think of. This is killing me anyway – a slow painful death, eating me from the inside out – what’s the difference? Why hang on for more pain, when I could just take a bottle of ativan and stop it myself. Take control of my own destiny. I just don’t know how much more I can take – I’m drained, worthless, helpless, sad, angry, disgusted, self-destructive…I hate it! I hate all of it! And I need it to STOP!

I am an evil, bad, mean, nasty girl! Father was right. I am terrible! I don’t deserve love or care. I am undeserving. Hopeless. It is hopeless. There’s nothing left. I’m too tired. I can’t bleed or puke the badness out of me. It won’t leave!

God please help me. I come to you because I no longer feel deserving of your love. I am ***** and I know that you cannot accept me. I am used up like trash and there is nothing left of myself to offer to you. I feel forever tainted and unworthy of your guidance and love. I am as a phony in your house. I should not have come to your place of worship. I feel like an outsider there not deserving of the information that so many others take for granted. I am sorry that I am unholy, that I am the sin of this earth. The filth of my hands should not grip your Bible. My mind is destroyed with the images that play in it; I can no longer absorb your truths. Please God forgive my unrighteousness.

Come and walk with me!
I take your hand and allow you to push open the heavy, creaking door to my thoughts.
Together we pause at the vast emptiness before us, creaking dreams beneath our feet, memories and beliefs casting shadows on the vast walls.

We move cautiously inside the entrance, tread carefully on my forgotten memories and dreams, their hold on me lost through time.
Please ignore the twitching corpses and further explore darkened, hidden, cobwebbed corners.

Gliding through the room, I pull you down, ducking as another thought flies through the air hitting the opposite wall with a loud splat then landing in the pile of screaming thoughts below, where they stay, awaiting the inevitable time when they will either be dismissed or built upon.

Allow me to guide you through the room, dodging the memories best forgotten, notice the shame and fear apparent on my face as we view them together.

Take a moment to scan the dark room, breathe in the fresh hopes and dreams; their bright bodies hung carefully on the sun drenched walls, waiting for the eventual time when they will be realized or floored.

Their hopes shimmer in vivid brilliance to the limited few who are trusted enough to view them. Laugh as you catch glimpses of the insane images before you, cry at those of more morbid times. Feel yourself being dragged into the moment, your sleeve being tugged at by a crying child.
And in the blink of an eye that same child scrambles over to you.
Pull yourself back into the present, realizing the child before you is me.

Explore the room further, try to avoid the tear filled pool, where all tears are recorded and verified at being shed…wept through time.

Stop and hover at the shrine of the memories of my life.

Images and clips are projected throughout me and are now available for your viewing.
Notice how the salty pool of tears deepens while you witness me recounting the losses, the pain.

As we walk further into the room, journeying through time, moving closer and closer to the present…remember to observe the moments and memories of time, suspended in mid-air, burning in a golden light.

Now witness the smugness…the only part of my mind visible now, its golden beauty being cast throughout my body, washing me in an aura-like glow.

The warmth of the complacency keeps me sane, urging thoughts to be formed, its magnetism pulling words from the neglected pile and painting them into pictures, parading them in the room until they are given attention and brought to life.

As we move toward the door, look over your shoulder at what you have witnessed the room now a hub of excitement, never before viewed by anyone.

The air thick with scents of raw emotion, its nakedness daunting and yet liberating.
Its shadow and mediocre existence no longer locked away but instead camouflaged in an attitude and personality of an unexpected level.

Pursued by many, their relentless banging, wasted energy, their persistence jamming the door further, while the rusted lock twists tighter and tighter, until the eventual breaking of the lock, shattering all ties with the pursuer.

We step over the threshold, out of the house and into the sun.

I close the heavy doors to my thoughts, and replace the rusted lock on my soul.
I glance over at you and you catch my gaze.
You nod your head at me and reach out your hand.

I am unable to reach for you… I don't believe in myself, I don't love myself.

But I hope that eventually I will find peace from the inner turmoil that has me vice grip, tightening with each passing day.

I look at you with desperation in my eyes, longing to believe the wisdom you speak is "truth".

Tonight I want to express my gratitude but my words seem to fail me. The support I receive is part of the reason why I fight so hard. You send me strength when I have none. Even far away, you are still right here, listening to me, encouraging me, holding me, loving me, sending me hope. Shared history explains the how, but love explains the why. You, my guardian angels, carry me through, reminding me that my life is worth fighting for, that I am worth fighting for, I deserve to be here. That Nita can be saved.