****** abuse in itself is not the worst crime. No. The aftermath is. The invisible **** that happens over and over again every time you close your eyes.  That shiver that runs down your spine whenever someone places a hand on your shoulder or jumps out and shouts "boo" at you. They way you hold your keys between your knuckles every time you have to walk alone at night. The way your heart races when you are home alone and hear a noise in the house. No the actually act alone isn't the worst. The worst is feeling unsafe in every aspect of everything you will ever do. The worst is smelling his cologne everywhere you go. Sensing his presence when you know you are alone. The worst is breathing everyday. Just breathing when all you want to do is stop.

The worse is how your body decays in every spot that he touched even years after. I am rotting from the inside out. He injected dirt into my veins like a drug.

The worst is scrubbing until your skin is raw, until the water runs cold, yet still being consumed in filth. The worst is how one act, done by one person, over a length of time can so alter everything about you. Like my DNA has been rewritten. The worst thing is how it replays in your mind like a broken record that continues to skip.

Or how small it makes you feel, so powerless.  Such a greatness of nothing.and how that nothing consumes you. Then you wonder how being nothing can be so vast.  How feeling like nothing can become something that lasts forever.

The worst is trying to believe that your body is anything more then a wasteland when you know that that's all it ever is, and was, and ever will be. Daring to think that maybe you are beautiful and  deserving of more and having the mirror tell you that that is a lie.

No ****** abuse in itself is not the worst crime. The worst is how that one act wipes away everything that you are like an eraser on a chalk board and now all you are is the things that have happened. Now I am pain. I am hurt. I am the cuts on my skin.

The worst is feeling like you are lying every time you say that you are more then what he made you.

I sense that this compulsion to validate feelings will soon result in some ****** collision.

My fists are tightening and I begin dig my nails into the soft flesh of my palms. I feel desperate for instruction tonight and my brain is sending signals to my fingers to form the words to send to DT for help. SOS! Danger! But it will not be allowed. I am frightened and afraid I will hurt myself, I want to reach out but I do not know how. So there is no reason to reach out, express my fear of SI tonight. I am not angry. I feel only fear and despair of being uneducated in the ability to handle the screaming and anguish from the parts inside of me. But there is no choice but to do this alone. At this point in the evening, I am unable to say what the signed treaty will be in the end. I do know the deadly arsenal to be used in this fight, this internal war, tonight.

I have no reason to stay here and endure the endless pain that exists each night. DT says, “Nita, stay in your body.” Um, why? That’s the LAST place I want to be! That’s where the HELL is, does not he get that? Geez – this “body” is possessed, and since he would not agree to an exorcism – I am moving out each night when the ghosts from the past come calling. And if the place does not burn down or bleed out, I will return in the daylight.

I would much like to find the “Nita of old” ~ but the tide has swept her out to sea, leaving me, the new Nita, covered in seaweed. The fundamental stress is still here but now an ache edges into the limits of my consciousness. I do not feel armed to face the girl I am supposed to meet and accept.

I feel past my prime. My subconscious pulls at my arms, whispers in my ear memories…bits and pieces of that young girl who was also named Nita. I try to look away but I see her and I hear her. She tells me that she is too sick to be healed. She is emaciated, listless, naked and cold. Her eyes are glassy, she is bleeding and she speaks of vanishing. You cannot save her and I do not want too.

This is what I am reduced to each night. Screaming, fighting girls inside of me who are all vying for control. I do not care which one wins, I am not sticking around tonight to find out.

Sometimes I am scared of how much I do not want to be here.

I have been shutting the memories out of my head all day. My mind wants to remember more. My mind wants to force all that bad ugliness In. "I cannot just sit and think about this now I'm working!" I tell my mind. It does not listen, It forces It's way in anyways. I cannot run from It, I cannot hide from It. And I cannot function without It spilling into my brain like poison. I can tell It to go away, or come again another day. But when I shut It out I feel worse, I hurt worse. And It does not stay away for long. It always creeps back in on me, leaving me with this black cloud of pain above my head hanging there for the world to see. I wish I could release all of this hurt that is on my heart, just let It all go with one single action. Be done and move on. But it is not that simple. I do not want to remember today. I want a break. I am playing a game of tug-a-war with my brain. It's pulling the rope tighter and harder on It's end, while I lose the battle due to my weakness and crash to the earth face first. I do not want to remember today. I do not want to cry. I refuse to close my eyes; I refuse to let It control me today. I just want a break.

Please go away bad things I beg of you now.
I wish to sleep but I don't know how

I don't like these memories, or these pictures that I see
I screamed and cried but no one ever came to save me

Please go away and don't bring any more pain
GO AWAY I feel like if you don't I will go insane

I don't want to feel, or remember his touch
Run away memories, I don't want to see you, it hurts too much

Please go away, you've shown me what I never wanted to see
Slip from my mind, vanish from my thoughts, please just let me be

I don't want to remember his smile, sweat or his smell
Or the way he made that tiny baby promise not to tell

Please go away bad memories, It pains me to breath
Everything hurts, I need time to grieve

I don't like the dirtiness and the way I've carried this shame
I've spent my whole life walking this earth thinking I was to blame

Please go away bad memories, I wish that you had never come
When you grace my presence you make me feel numb

I don't like to hear the voice In my head of that child begging him to stop
Or remember as he didn't listen, threw her down, and climbed on top

Please go away bad memories you make my body remember what it once forgot
I also remember dolls, jewelry, and toys he left, making him think forgiveness he'd bought

I do not wish to see any further or to remember the blood that ran down her skin
What that father did was wrong, sick, and disgusting, It was the ultimate sin

Please go away I hate everything I see in these horrible, hurtful things
I feel like a bird lying waiting to die with its broken tattered wings

I do not wish to know what was done, be a victim, or live any longer in this past
I ache, I hurt, I scream, I cry, I beg, I see, I remember how long will this last?

Please go away all sadness you've been here far, far too long
My heart is always aching and singing its sad, sad song

I don't like these bad dreams or this life living with these fears
My heart is heavy and my body is raw, I am blinded by my tears

Please go away bad things I beg of you now
*I wish to sleep but I don't know how

In my real life I tend to pull inside myself when I find myself in a place of fear or pain; much like a turtle hiding inside her shell when she feels threatened. It’s difficult for me to reach out to someone for help, or even just for ‘company’. I don’t feel that way “here” ~ for a couple of reasons, there is, of course, the anonymity factor, but also because I think most people who ‘read’ my writings feel and struggle with much of the same things I do. In my real life that is not the case.

I am encouraged by others to share with people…share the truth. I am told that if I shared the truth with them…not like the gross explicit details of what is running rampant through my crazy brain, but just when things trigger a past memory for me and it how it makes me feel. And without even thinking about it, I shout, “No way! I don’t want them to know!” It’s hard to share the bad things in real life with real life people because I don’t want them to see me the way I see myself; weak and gross and ***** and depressed. I want them to see the Nita that I’ve always been….because I’m embarrassed of the other “nitas”. And they are to be kept in the dark, as they have always been.

Therapy sessions are very difficult because we continued to talk about the ‘hard stuff’ the stuff I don’t talk about and I pushed myself to share more of the bad stuff with than I ever have before. I think I push myself because I want to feel better so badly that I just want to spew it all out of me so “we” can figure out how to deal with it so there is less confusion and craziness and fighting inside my head. But my plan kind of back-fires on me because there is even more craziness and fighting…voices screaming that we shared too much with the therapist. Embarrassment, shame, fear, pain…all pummeled me until I wanted to cut the voices right out of my brain! What was I thinking? Why did I tell him that? What he must think of me now! *******! Now I can never go back there he knows way too much! And this continuous tape recorder does not stop.

I have text messages and voice mail messages and emails from friends and I cannot answer any of them because I cannot let anyone know how much pain I am in and how much shame I feel from therapy and my pathetic life.  But then slowly, I start to respond to some of the emails and text messages, apologizing for my lack of response but that I wasn't really in a place to talk. And I realized that I do have friends who love me and would be there for me, if I would let them… I respond to one friend and told her I wasn’t in a good place so I couldn’t respond to her then…and she said, “That’s when you walk up to me for a hug and know that I am here for you always.”

I have some really good friends out there…but you know what still holds me back from reaching out to them? That voice inside who says, “Nita, they don’t KNOW the truth about you. That’s why they love you. If they knew the truth they would surely run away…just as you have run away from yourself for so many years…” and so I do not respond to any of them.

The battle in my head
It goes like this…

You know you wanted it.
I was not old enough to know what it was. When I was, I said no. He never listened…

I went to him even when he did not ask. I am at fault.
I loved him. I believed his lies. I trusted him. I did not know it was abuse.

I am dramatic. I am emotional. I am over-reacting.
He stole my innocence. He stole my childhood. I have every right to be this way.

He did not mean to hurt me. He loves me, maybe he just did not know how to show it.
That is not love. That is abuse. I was a child. I was not responsible.

Stop whining. Stop complaining. There are others out there who have it worse then you.
He bruised my faith. He destroyed my feelings of worth.

He loved me. He did not mean to hurt me.
It does not matter if he meant to or not…the truth is he did.

How sick and mess up must I be? I still care about him.
It is natural to be confused and conflicted. He is family.

Most of the time I did not say no or fight him. So I was telling him it was okay.
He was manipulating a child. I was confused. I did not know how to say no.

I must have wanted it. I must have led him on.
No matter what I did, he was the adult. He was not supposed to do those things. He was wrong. I was the child.

It was so long ago. How can I still be mad at him?
He manipulated my emotions. He was my daddy. You are supposed to obey and trust your father. He is not supposed to lie to you or do bad things.

Other people have been through worse. It could have been worse. So it's not really a big deal.
It was bad enough. I am entitled to feel violated. Trauma is trauma - pain is not a competition.

I should be over this by now.
There is no time limit on healing.
I must just be doing this for the attention.
If I wanted attention I would be telling everyone. I can barely talk about this.

I made him angry
So what? It doesn't make what he did okay

I am just imagining it.
I remember what he felt like when he touched me or made me touch him. I can still feel the weight of his heavy body on my child sized one. I can still smell his breath.  I cannot be making these feelings up.

Today I am watching a loved one pass from life into eternity. My heartaches as I see the man whom I loved that was once so strong and full of life dwindling away. Wishing I could trade places with him. I would gladly give him my remaining days. He has so many that love him and rely on him.

Death I see you coming...I only wish it was for me.

To most I seem so strong ~ but I cry myself to sleep every night

Last night, after everyone was safely tucked into bed, alone in the quiet darkness, I cried from the overwhelming feelings of what I can only describe as hopelessness.

Not the "oh, that's so sad I could cry" kind of hopelessness...it was open the floodgates the dam has broken SOBBING...tears pouring out of me, nose running, eyes swollen and bloodshot. And once it started it did not stop for hours.  

Today in addition to the swollen and bloodshot eyes I have had a nauseating headache from all the crying last night and I feel drained and empty.  

Today I feel angry for the 6 month old left in an apartment to die.

Today I feel terribly sad for that little girl who did nothing wrong but was beaten and ***** and broken.

Today I feel so much rage for that angry teenager who will not allow her to reach out or feel any sort of comfort.

Today I feel despondent for the girl who has continued to hurt herself and repeat what was done to her because she cannot find another way.

Today I feel rage for the girl who cannot live in her body because it doesn't feel right or safe.

Today I feel sad for the woman who is overwhelmed with feelings of shame and unable to express her feelings because she cannot trust.

Today I feel sorry for the woman who tried to outrun the pain, the memories, the shame because she couldn't.

Today I feel sorrow for the woman who continues to feel tormented by her past to the point of hopelessness....and I feel angry because she can't escape her own prison of fear and she cannot allow anyone else in to help.

I don't feel well tonight...I am freezing cold, my head is throbbing and it continues to make me nauseous.  I am not doing well...and I'm sure a lot of it has to do with the unresolved health issues.  I cannot have another night like last night...it was bad.  

I know..wwwaaaahhhh!  Break out the violins!  Get a Grip Girl! Ain't no one going to do it for you, or even co-pilot!

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.

Do you know what it's like to feel trapped? That no matter where you turn there is no way out. The light is gradually ****** out of your life. You live in darkness. At first you are afraid of the dark and the agony, but after a while you get used to it. No matter where you turned, you find only pain and abandonment. And at first you find this unsettling you’re human and you crave love and connection. But as time passes you begin to realize that you are undeserving of this bond, and you become a shell with no soul. You no longer exist; you simply drift from moment to moment trying to keep some semblance of sanity. Certain people take notice, but fear overwhelms you and you remain silent. They cannot be trusted. No one can be trusted.

You were little, though in reality you were never allowed to be so, and you realized that is just isn't worth it. It is not worth the pain and heartache - and so you wait....in silence. You do what is expected of you and expect nothing of anyone else. It hurts more than anyone will ever know.*

You put up a front for show. You try to shield others from this darkness You were always a pawn in a sick and twisted game; you still are. Your pain does not matter, you do not matter. You become what he wants you to be. And nothing else. You give in to his commands. Partially out of fear but also because you no longer care, and it’s all you’ve ever known. You realized early on that your life is meaningless. You are an object, void of emotion or need. Evil things are said and done, and this is their warped vision of fun. You must deserve this. You must be inherently evil because a kind and gracious God would not allow this to happen. Time passes.......you are in need of guidance but too afraid to ask.

The nightmares from the past still linger, bleeding into your life now. Still, you wait, in silence. Still, you live in fear. There is too much confusion and chaos in your head. You want to scream, but you cry instead.

*It is the same now as it was then - crying - alone, lying bleeding on the cold floor. Praying for it all to end. Praying for it to be over. Praying to a God who never heard you then, the God who does not hear you now.

Who doesn’t think about death sometimes
Whether there is truly a heaven and/or a hell
If there’s really a bright light,
If you’ll see your ‘loved ones’ again,
Or if it’s really just lights out…
Like an eternal sleep kinda thing.
  
Being the capricious crazyhead that I can be,
I think different things at different times.
Sometimes I find myself fascinated by the subject,
Especially when I have an acute flair-up from my chronic trauma brain
And I’m unable to find even a moment of relief, mentally or physically.
It’s in those moments I wonder what it’s like to be ‘dead’.

No one really knows, right?
No one comes back after dying and says
“Hey – I was dead for 3 days and death is like club med!”
No one ever gets a postcard from someone who died that reads,
“It’s hot ~ bring a fan."
You don’t get an itinerary emailed to you a week prior to your death.
… there’s nothing ‘helpful’ so you can be ‘prepared’.

Late night conversation between the sane me and the crazy brain:
Crazybrain:  Sometimes I think I’d like to die because I just need it to stop.
Sane Me: What do you think it’s like after you die?
Crazybrain:  Quiet…nothing. I don’t really believe in reincarnation (I don’t think) but I can’t imagine death is worse than living like this.
Sane Me: But you don’t know that…what if death is worse than life? What if it’s worse?
Crazybrain:  I don’t think it’s worse. (at this point, Crazybrain goes way off into left field, as she often does…) I sometimes think my dog is my grandfather reincarnated. He seems really sensitive to my feelings and always tries to comfort me when I’m sad or troubled. (of course, this statement was made AFTER Crazybrain just said that she didn’t think she believed in reincarnation. Told ya ~ Crazybrain’s thinking pattern can sometimes be a bit erratic.)
Sane Me:  …Yeah, pets are sensitive to human emotions.

So last night I was once again contemplating what it’s like to be dead
(this was after cleaning my closet and finding a bottle of vicodin left over from some injury)
~ no ~ I did not take the vicodin.
Could death be worse than living like this
It strikes me funny:
The quality of life after death?
Is there a QUALITY of LIFE after death?
Or, are you just “dead”.

I have a terrible uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach this morning. I have tried to distract myself but it won’t go away. So I am now pretending I am invisible, non-existent. When I am invisible it’s easy to feel nothing…to be nothing. I don’t want to feel today. I want all of what I feel to fall into the Bermuda triangle never to be found again. I can’t even find safety in writing today. Today, even writing feels too vulnerable, too exposed. I feel that if I were to write my true feelings, put what’s really going through my crazybrain in words that they will be read by someone who will thwart my plans.

I have asked for help, I have reached out, laid myself bare for someone else to witness. I have sat in silence.  I have exposed the ugly truth of the past and the pain of reliving the past in the present…and still no one will help me with it. I have been vulnerable in the face of pain. I have screamed out loud and I have screamed silently inside my head. I have tried to express my feelings and needs in different ways. I have allowed myself to reach out in ways I have never done before. And yet here it is, the mess that is me…shattered on the floor in a million pieces, just as it was last month, last year, 10 years ago…all the way back to when I was an unfertilized egg.

I have listened and I have been open to new ideas and techniques. I have listened to someone condescendingly tell me, "I can only imagine the pain you feel" and tell me I have "courage" and "I am honored to be your witness" (all ******* cliché responses).  I’ve paid my hard-earned money for a therapeutic technique I knew would not work. I have tried to mirror the good and understand the bad. I have tried to nurture the little girl and soothe the angry one. I have distracted and half-smiled for over a year.  And it is all still here.  All of it...the nightmares, the SUI thoughts, the burning desires to SI.  

I'm tired of being told what I can and cannot do with my feelings while not giving me other options...words like "I see you struggling" mean nothing and are actually patronizing and demeaning.  Would you tell someone who was drowning the same thing? Or would you throw them a life vest?

I am no longer going to do it someone else’s way. No one listens to me so I am done listening to them. I am tired of trying to explain the reality of the ghosts who haunt and torture me and being met with only disbelief and “it’s not that bad”. So I have skillfully constructed my own plan and I have placed my carefully drawn plans into a black satin box and tied the box with ribbon the color of blood. And my plan will stay there, cushioned by the soft warm velvet until late this evening, when the moon is high and the night wind howls...then I will untie the ribbon, open the box, and expose the inside to the cruel reality of the world.

My safety advisory system been elevated to RED

Please be aware of your surroundings at all times and do NOT leave your body unattended....but! I should capitalize that...BUT it is not always a choice. And lately, awareness and attendance to my body have not been a choice. I cannot stay in this body at night. It is uninhabitable. And I tell DT there is so much I can’t talk about. So many things that happened that I’m so ashamed of ~ things I cannot believe I did. And I don’t trust myself. I don’t like the huge blackness that surrounds me that continues to threaten me every night.

I don’t want to remember. I want to forget it all. All of it. Because at night, when the anguish and pain torment me to the point I consider taking a bottle of Vicodin, and slitting my wrists in the bathtub, it scares me. So many things that remind me of back then terrorize me now, in my present moment. And I know I need help with it ~ but at the rate I’m able to communicate about this stuff, I will surely be dead before the torment stops. DT tells me to be patient, be patient…but it just keeps getting worse and one night my patience is going to run out and I will do something irreversible.  But still he says, be patient, he says he has respect and patience and he will be here when I'm ready to talk.  But I'm afraid to speak because the truth is too scary.  I offered to draw him a picture instead.  His patience feels infinite and yet I still feel as though I am drowning and he is taking too much time blowing up the life raft.  

I feel sick. And I feel worried. The pain is torturing me and the pain meds barely touch it. It’s that bad right now.  I want to cut...it’s been a struggle.

And I feel worried. And not just for me. I have two good friends whom are also struggling and I don’t know how to help them because I feel so lost too right now. I want to help them but I don’t know what to do. Just be right here, I guess. I wish I could tell them that it’s going to be okay ~ and I could say that, but I don’t know how long it will be before we make it to okay ~ and I don’t know if I have the energy make it that far.

My Security threat level has now been raised to RED. I am safe right this minute, but I don’t know how long I can stay that way…there is no way to tell.

I do not know what is happening to me right now… I have been having perverse and warped physical reactions to the flashbacks that are spilling out of me.  I feel like I am suffocating…I cannot swallow… I cannot breathe - I am too drained to fight it.

Still convinced I have to do it on my own I stumbled around the house. I walked around the kitchen, talking myself through each step, picking things up and telling myself what I was holding and seeing…this is my house, this is my kitchen, this is my desk, this is an envelope with my name on it…my phone bill – I am an adult, I am a wife, a mother, a friend…How crazy does that sound? I had to talk out loud to keep him away from hurting me again.

I do not remember what happened after that – a couple of hours later I woke up on my bedroom floor. A complete mess.  
What am I so scared of? Why can I not snap out of it???

It is all so warped and cruel. Experiences like ****** abuse and **** do more than just bump into us in the night…they critically wound us, sometimes fatally. Every single ounce of our being is ripped to shreds, our souls shattered. And we are left to pick up the pieces of what never should have been ~ angry…hurt…sad…hopeless…traumatized…full of shame and unable to trust anyone enough to talk about it.

Does anyone who has not been there really understand how traumatic and painful it is to hold all of this inside because of the fear of being told to ‘get over it’, or ‘shut up and behave’ or ‘It wouldn’t be so traumatic if you stayed in the present moment and out of the past’….so many secrets…so many years…so much energy it takes to keep it all in and ‘act normal’.  Does anyone understand how much it hurts to be told 'oops - sorry, it's after 10 now - you will be abandoned so make a different choice.'  It’s exhausting…But exhaustion feels like the better choice...rather than being abandoned.  And that's why I no longer reach out for help.  That's why she once again hides.  Because she was hurt time and time again...and now she's too scared.  Now, like then, 'in the face of expected abandonment...she makes a different choice.'

Maybe I am just too traumatized to ever fully trust anyone.  What if that is really my 'truth'?  Please do not let it continue tonight.  I am too tired...I am so scared and tired.

Why do I continue to try to fight a losing battle?

DT told me that he won’t ‘abandon’ me…he said that continuing therapy is my decision …but I often think that I’m way too demanding and unfair and I should ‘abandon’ him – so he can finally have relief from the border. He really is a nice caring person – I truly believe that – and he doesn’t deserve all the horrible **** I project onto him. He doesn’t. I do believe that he ******* up with the whole email/trust thing – but we all ***** up, right? Still, even with that, I’m like a walking time bomb and I have land mines hidden all over the place and he walks carefully because he never knows when he’s going to step on one.

I’m just so tired and frustrated. I feel like I’m in quicksand. My body aches so bad…my head always hurts, I constantly vacillate between sad/lonely girl, 5 year old, PAG…CONSTANTLY! I feel like I’m walking through a haunted house…I can turn a corner and something horrible can be there that will send me reeling – and then I’m terrified, curled up in a corner, wrapped in a blanket, trying to hide. And I can’t stop it. I can’t just throw it in a box and shut the lid. IT DOES NOT WORK THAT WAY! I can’t ‘ignore’ my body when it hurts, I can’t ignore the voices, I can’t stop “feeling”…IT DOES NOT WORK THAT WAY!

But DT doesn’t deserve it…no one does. I am way more trouble than I’m worth. It’s taking too long. I’m so tired and such a burden to everyone. Nothing works – there’s no “self-soothing” machine anywhere hidden away behind my heart, or deep inside my ****** up brain.
This whole process ***** BIG TIME! AND I’M TIRED AND I DON’T WANT TO DO IT ANYMORE! And I am such a selfish unfair ***** to DT. He doesn’t deserve my ‘wrath’. But I still get so angry at him and I CAN’T DO IT!

I only see one way out of this. And I know that DT needs the ‘relief’ just as much as I do. The whiny 5 year old will continue to ‘demand’ DT’s help and comfort…and DT doesn’t have the time, or desire, to deal with her anymore. I don’t blame him, truly, 5 year old is unbearable. But the fact remains that there is only 1 way to get her to shut up…only 1 way to provide relief and peace to DT and to me.

Tired, hurting, wanting to SI... just trying to get through the 'moment' and then the next one, and the next one....and on and on and on...and I find myself flat on my stomach, lying on the bathroom floor, lost and alone...

On the bathroom floor, with a razor in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, feeling no pain while watching blood drip down one's wrist...all while watching the scene take place while outside one's body.

***...I am not well…I cannot keep up…I plug one leak and another has sprung somewhere else – my crazybrain is out of control…it is tiring.
I am forever waiting for a “better day”.
Tomorrow I will feel better...Tomorrow will be a better day…What if tomorrow never comes?
Like I said I am not well…I cannot keep up... I am about done.

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.

Some days...
           I just want to disappear. I want to crawl into the earth and hug the  
           ground around me like a blanket and be unseen, be swallowed up
           by mother nature.

Some days....
          I want to scream- "I am MORE."  I am more than you see. I want to
          beg someone- anyone- to see all of me, to really know me, and to
          accept me as I am- not how they'd wish me to be.

Some days...
          I want to let out the rage within me. To pound my fists against the
          pain until they are ****** and unrecognizable. I want to scream and
          cry and rage and hurt and let out the anger about what was done to
          me. I want to yell that I am no longer afraid, I will no longer hide my
          anger and turn it inward. I want to unleash the fury that lives in my
          heart, turn it against the ones who deserve it.

Tonight's journey is brought to you courtesy of demons old and new.

Memories of abuse and torment that happened years ago but seen like yesterday.

I close my eyes and I feel your touch, I hear your voice, and I smell your cologne.

Please don't the little girl pleads. I hurt so...not tonight, Daddy.

My pleas, just encourage you to be more violent. Roughly taking what you claim as yours.

When you finished, I lie there ******, softly crying. My tears anger you as you tell me to stop or you will give me a reason to cry.

This occurs night after night. Then it happened in reality now I relive those nights in my dreams.

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 wonder if guardian angels cry when they see it all play out; and as they stand with their hands tied, do they cry out loud?"*

I often find myself lamenting, *"Why? Why did this have to happen? Why did nobody notice? Why didn't anybody save me? How could You (God) give this to me?" I have been told that those are words of a victim and not a survivor, but I can't help but feel and think them. I especially direct them toward a higher power... I was always told that I must have been dreaming, how dare I say such things, I deserved it, I did something wrong, I was stupid enough to.... Some messages hanging around my house growing up said "Men don't buy appliances, they marry them." Women (and children) shouldn't speak unless spoken to, I should RESPECT my elders (aka abusers), better to be silent and appear a fool than to speak and remove all doubt, and here's the best one...it was placed on my mirror "You're looking at the problem". And people wonder why I act the way I do. The people who I grew up with, my "family",  those who are supposed to nurture, protect, and teach all of the lessons of life were the ones hurting me-and (inadvertently) teaching me that it's okay for other people to do the same... And I'm the one lying, I'm the one making up stories and dreaming. Only I have learned that those things are not normal...that most children do not grow up like I did. But these things fuel my secrecy. Apparently nobody knew. It makes me sick. why.... ugh...I feel sick just thinking about it. It's paralyzing. It's exhausting.

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.

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.

Looking forward
Towards a better tomorrow.

A day when I have a better outlook
A day when I feel no pain
A day when life seems less hurtful
A day when I am not plagued with nightmares
A day when I am not afraid
A day when being happy comes naturally.

I am looking forward.

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…

So here it is…I am a shadow of NitaAnn – a shadow of my former self- the Nita most people know and love. Certain parts of me that are so lacking now…energy, drive, stamina… I am so tired all the time. I have spent the past 2 months thinking I can outrun it. But I cannot. I can hide it away from everyone else but I cannot outrun it.

I do not sleep anymore. The husband tells me I constantly whimper and cry in my sleep.  And I wake up multiple times a night in the middle of a panic attack. I cannot sleep without being terrorized - I get that it is irrational – and the logical side of my brain tells me that, but the paranoid side is tipping the scales these days…I am not in control really. All the drive and spirit and strength and determination that I used to have has been drained from me.

I feel crazy. I am paranoid. I am anxious. I am depressed. I am in the dark place every single night. I just need something to renew my courage and determination. But it just seems like everything is a temporary ray of sunshine in the darkness. Every night is scary...every night a potential set back into self injury hell.

I keep having these panic attacks...I feel dizzy and flushed – nausea that I try to breathe through so I do not *****. Sometimes it comes out of nowhere – and I have to stop in the middle of something, grab the wall and just try to breathe. It happens during the day to now not just at night, but I do not tell anyone. I know I need help – but I cannot ask for help...I am too embarrassed. This is not me. I do not know who this is...she has been around way too long – and that makes me scared that she is me forever.

                I cannot do this anymore tonight...the scary movies have  
                                            started....Where are you?